


you don't need me anymore

by outwardbound93



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Future Fic, Kid Fic, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-17 01:24:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 38,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4647093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outwardbound93/pseuds/outwardbound93
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rain riddles the sea like bullets and the dark storm clouds hang just above ceiling height, but Niall doesn’t have the panicky crushed feeling he sometimes gets. The little house feels cozy with his baby asleep in the next room and Harry’s lip jutting out in a pout. </p><p>Or, Niall becomes a dad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you don't need me anymore

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to the lovely [niallohmighty](niallohmighty.tumblr.com) for being beta of the year and [heauxnarry](heauxnarry.tumblr.com) for Rose's name. y'all are the real champions. title is from u2's ["kite"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZnTcjlcDkmE)

Niall sits back in his chair, listening hard. His fingers brush a couple of sliders on the audio mixer, but he doesn’t adjust anything. He can’t figure out what doesn’t sound right. When Gary Lightbody had come in to write and demo the song together, the song had felt bright and new, sharp-edged and promising. Now it’s just…Niall doesn’t even know where to begin.

Jackknife stretches his arms over his head, cracking his back, and lets out a sigh. “There’s nothing wrong with it, Nialler. It’s a good tune. I think you’ve just got this sound in your head that doesn’t exist.”

“Nothing wrong,” “a good tune.” Jackknife doesn’t mean to point out exactly what Niall’s feeling about this song from his debut album. It’s not great, it’s not what he’d set out to do when he’d decided to stop only writing and producing and start performing again. Maybe he should drop the studio album idea of it, just go out with the songs and perform them on the road and capture them that way. It’s not like he needs the money.

Yeah, because the label would totally go for that.

He’d wanted a Darkness on the Edge of Town kind of sound for this record, something different and new and unlike what he’d made with One Direction. Instead he’s hitting the same walls Springsteen had. Niall knows it’s not just the wall of sound he can’t grapple with. It’s something, like. More. He’s still staring at the sound mixer when his phone starts ringing, and he gives an apologetic look to Jackknife and the sound engineer before he excuses himself. It’s his lawyer, and he’s been waiting to hear back from that biopic about Gram Parsons wanting to work out the rights to a song Niall wrote.

“Hey, Mart.”

Marty takes a deep breath. “Niall. I’m…I’m afraid we have some news. Is now a good time?”

Niall’s heart rate doubles. He finds himself heading toward the back door. His house is big but all of a sudden it feels much too small. “Yeah,” he clears his throat. “What is it?”

“Do you remember the claim that was filed in September?”

Niall breaks out in a cold sweat. Yeah, he remembers that one. It’d been a paternity suit. Nutters sometimes filed those hoping that Niall wouldn’t have the common sense to do a DNA test. But with this latest suit, Niall had actually known the girl. “I…yeah, I remember.”

He can picture Marty in his shiny office downtown, his gray hair swept back from his temples with expensive-smelling hairgel. He was convinced Niall put that extra deep line in the middle of his forehead. “We’ve got the results back. Niall, you’re the father.”

Strangely enough, Niall doesn’t sink down onto the nearest chair or run screaming back into the studio to tell Louis. Instead, he closes out the phone call. He looks down at the phone in his hand. The battery’s at twenty-eight percent and the signal is only at two bars. The background picture is of himself and Tiger Woods at a charity event earlier this year. His photo stream is full of pictures of lovely golf days and matches attended with old friends and people with names even more recognizable than Niall’s own.

Weird, he thinks. He hadn’t realized how easy everything felt until he was about to make it very, very complicated.

It feels like the other shoe is finally dropping, and Niall feels strangely relieved about it.

He goes back into the house to fetch his keys and wallet from the little table beside the front door and then he’s on his way to the Shelbourne, chewing his fingernails to the quick. It’s a nervous habit he’s gotten over, until now. Niall’s let himself forget what this level of anxiety felt like, and it brings back some not-so-great memories. The weeks and months watching Harry’s and Louis’s friendship deteriorate, even though they didn’t stop loving each other. Those few shows in the distorted microcosm where they weren’t sure whether or not Zayn was coming back.

It’s up for grabs these days whether or not someone recognizes him. The valet, a middle-aged man with a bushy gray mustache, doesn’t, so Niall passes off his keys without incident. He stands on the kerb for a moment before he goes in, suddenly craving a cigarette. The cold is biting and he’d not stopped for a proper coat, so Niall starts shivering almost immediately. There’s a thin layer of frost on the hotel’s windows. It reflects the Christmas lights wound around trees in St. Stephen’s Green just winking on in the deepening twilight.

Niall turns and goes inside, rubbing his palm over his jeans over and over. He’s got five missed calls from Jackknife asking where he’s gone and three unopened emails from the Kodaline lads and Hudson Taylor about their next jam sessions. He was supposed to have picked his first single today. Niall just clicks his phone off and shoves it into his pocket.

One of his lawyer’s assistants greets him in the lobby, and Niall pulls the hunting hat off his head. He’d given up the newsboy cap years ago but then “Catcher in the Rye” finally got a movie and made the hunting hat popular again, and Niall just kept wearing it. Ireland was cold, and the hat was warm. So what if Eoghan still teases him about it mercilessly.

Marty’s gotten them a room in the back of the hotel, near the rear exit. Niall’s ears still ring with the phantom screams of thousands of teenaged girls every time he steps into a hotel room, and this time’s no different, except someone really is screaming. There’s a carseat on the dining room table. Inside is a squalling baby with bright pink cheeks and lungs for performing. Niall’s heart feels almost yanked out of his chest, he’s so drawn to her.

Some practical part of him wonders whether he’d even know that she was his daughter if he hadn’t been told so – they all look like soft fragile miniature people at this age – but it doesn’t matter. He didn’t know she existed until a couple of hours ago and now here they are.

“The mother wants to terminate her parental rights,” Marty tells Niall. “She’s yours, if you want her. If not…” His voice trails off delicately, and Niall feels an irrational wave of distaste for his lawyer.

He reaches out and touches the baby’s tiny pink fingers. “What’s her name?” Niall asks.

“Rose.”

“All right, then, Rose,” Niall murmurs. “Looks like it’s me and you, babe.”

***

Niall’s dealt with plenty of people who don’t like him. There have been heaps of music critics over the years who seemed to want to make him cry. Fans, too, for that matter. He’s never been quite so unsure of himself as he is now, locked in a standoff with his own baby.

Rose is sitting on the floor. Her cheeks and hair and clothes are streaked with mashed peas, and when Niall tries to get closer, she whips her baby spoon around and nails him right in the chest. The spoon drops to the floor with a clatter and a splat. Once she realizes she’s lost her toy, Rose’s cheeks pink up even more and her tiny mouth opens in a wail. Niall hastily passes the spoon back to her, even though he’d meant to take it away.

She hasn’t stopped crying since Niall brought her home except when she’s making Niall’s face turn more red. His whole kitchen is covered in nasty-smelling baby food, and he’s pretty sure the baby hasn’t eaten any of it. Niall’s considering how many flavors of baby food there are left to try when the doorbell goes. Rose instantly starts crying.

Niall scoops her up and plonks her in the little mesh cage that he’d had from Theo’s baby days on his way through the living room. He opens the door to Denise, who’s holding yet another baby gift. Denise kisses Niall’s cheek and bustles past Niall into his house, removing her gloves as she goes.

“Who’s this from?” Niall asks, shutting the door behind her.

“I dunno love, check the postmark. Hello, little lady. My, aren’t you in a mood.”

Niall checks the post office stamp. It’s out of the Coral Bay, and it takes Niall a long moment to remember that Liam and Sophia are on holiday there if their Instagram posts are anything to go by. Well, that’s decent of them. Much better than Louis, who’d activated their old group message after almost a year of inactivity and sent “hahahaHAHAHA” when Niall was photographed leaving the hotel with Rose in tow a few days ago. Niall’s not speaking to him.

It’s been a field day for the press ever since, so Niall’s had to keep a low profile at his house in Ireland. Cabin fever is starting to make his skin feel like ants are crawling all over him, but there’s not much to do about it except wait for the paps to go away. Niall’s knee gives a frustrated twinge when he turns and sets the gift aside, unopened, on the pile of presents cluttering up the entryway. He just hasn’t had the time.

Rose’s wails reach ear-piercing levels, so Niall drags himself back to the living room and cuddles her close to his chest. “Shh, shh,” he hushes her. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.” But it’s not him she wants, it’s her mum.

Denise watches them together, her eyes soft and sad and not a little worried. “What?” Niall snaps, not really meaning his voice to come out as harsh as it does.

“The poor babe,” Denise laments. “She must be so confused.”

Sometimes Niall wishes Denise was his sister, and Greg was his brother-in-law. Niall used to go round all the time when he first moved home to play with Theo, but gradually he’d started looking forward to seeing Denise, too. There weren’t enough people in Niall’s life with a firm grip on reality.

“I just hate that woman for not telling you,” Denise says, and marches off toward the kitchen. Niall thinks about all the bits he missed with Theo while One Direction was on tour. He wonders about everything he’s missed with Rose. He’s not even sure what he wasn’t there for, the stories he’d have to tell if he’d known her when she was still just a little babe who couldn’t walk on her own.

Niall met her mum on a night out with Sean and the lads. Somewhere between the pint-drinking contest and the celebratory round of shots, Niall was introduced to Jessica, a grad student on loan to the University of Dublin. Sometime after Willie passed out and chipped his front tooth, and Niall helped Willie’s girlfriend get him loaded into a minicab, Niall went back to Jessica’s flat.

He doesn’t remember the sex, but he remembers the cheesy omelet that her roommate made the next morning, and he remembers inviting her to Bressie’s club for the next unsigned bands night. They’re always a mixed bag but there’s the chance of finding the next Ed Sheeran, and Bressie keeps the pints flowing all night long.

It was supposed to be a summer fling. Easy. Uncomplicated. Somehow Niall doesn’t think easy summer flings are supposed to end in a surprise baby. He doesn’t hate her. He thinks. He’s pretty sure. He’s just not convinced she made the right decision leaving the baby with him.

***

Niall’s asleep on the couch when the doorbell chimes again. He gives a startled lurch and his leg, which was draped over the arm of the couch, gives another pained twinge as he spills onto the floor. He hopes to God that Rose hasn’t woken up. He’s only just gotten her to bed. Niall climbs to his feet grumbling.

He jerks the door open without checking the peephole, sure that it’ll be Maura with more foul-smelling baby food. He sure as shit doesn’t expect Harry Styles to be looking at him with an almost feverish glint in his green eyes. He rocks back and forth on his heels a little bit like he’s nervous.

“What the fuck?” is all Niall can think to say.

“I heard there was a baby in the neighborhood,” Harry says. “And I can’t rest until I’ve kissed her face and counted her fingers and toes.” He leans up into Niall’s space and Niall takes a step back, already falling back into old habits. The give and take with Harry they’d perfected over six years of One Direction.

“I already…” Niall shakes his head. It’s like everything’s been turned upside down by Harry unexpectedly storming Niall’s house. He can’t even remember the last time he’s seen Harry, but all of a sudden Niall feels twenty-one again, inextricably caught up in the band, Harry always there in the corner of his eye.

Harry lopes through Niall’s house like he owns the place. “I already did that,” Niall tells Harry’s back. Reason trickles in slowly. “Wait. Harry, wait! Don’t wake her up!”

Harry waves a hand like, “Of course not,” but Niall cannot impress on Harry just how much he does not want this baby woken up in the middle of a nap. Niall takes off after him. Niall hasn’t fully-body tackled anyone since he and Greg were kids, but he’s not about to let that stop him now.

He launches himself at Harry’s back and claps a palm over Harry’s mouth. Harry stumbles and they back into the wall, and Niall winces, thinking of Harry’s bad back. Harry tries to shrug him off, and Niall wraps an arm around his shoulders and holds on. He draws his bad knee up protectively toward his chest so that he’s clinging to Harry like a koala. Harry loses his balance and they catch themselves on the doorway to the studio.

Niall meets Harry’s wide eyes. He’s breathing hard, and he knows he looks ridiculous with shadows under his eyes, liquefied sweet potatoes in his hair, and two day-old clothes. “Don’t wake up the baby, Styles.”

“Niall,” Harry starts chidingly. He sounds like he might start laughing.

“Shh!” Niall whispers, hushing Harry. He listens for a change in Rose’s breathing, for the wailing to start up. She snuffles softly and her bedcovers rustle, but she stays quiet. Niall slumps in relief.

When he looks up at Harry, Harry’s looking at him delightedly. “Oh my God, that’s a look of pure terror on your face. I haven’t seen you look like that since Selena and Demi were at the same party. Niall, are you afraid of your own baby? Is she bullying you? Do you need Lux to come here and defend you?”

“Shut up. You haven’t met her yet,” Niall grumbles. He eases away from Harry slowly. Now that he knows he can take Harry in a fight, he’s well prepared to take him down again.

God, Niall needs to sleep. He always gets testy when he’s tired.

Hm. Maybe Rose comes by it honestly.

“Can I?” Harry whispers, his eyes bright and pleading. Niall nods. He and Harry edge into Rose’s room. They peer over the edge of her cot. Rose’s fast asleep on her back, one gummy fist crammed in her mouth. Her other hand rests possessively on her favorite toy giraffe.

Harry’s voice is so soft. “Niall, she’s perfect.”

Niall looks down at her. She’s been so busy terrorizing him for the past few days that he hasn’t really had a chance at moments like these. He sleeps every time she gives him the chance. But Niall can see what Harry means. Her tiny cheeks are rosy and soft, and her dark eyelashes fan out over her cheeks. Her wispy hair is Niall’s color, but it curls like her ma’s. The doctor said she was a healthy size and weight for seventeen months. She just looks so tiny.

“Okay, okay. Come on,” Niall whispers. He has to all but drag Harry out of the room. Niall sits back down on the couch and slumps into the cushions, propping his foot up on the coffee table. He wishes he had an ice pack for his knee, but he’s too tired to get up and fetch one.

Harry sits down on the armchair and rests his elbows on his knees. He turns his big eyes on Niall and looks at him intently.

“What?” Niall grunts.

“Not to be indelicate, but you look awful,” Harry says. “What is that you’re covered in? Squash?”

Niall tips his head back against the back of the couch and closes his eyes. “Peas.”

“Hm,” Harry hums, and Niall’s asleep again before he can even ask how Harry’s doing.

He dreams of Harry humming from his bunk across the narrow hallway of the tour bus, Louis and Liam sneaking back on late, their faces alight with mischief. There’s the whole of it ahead of them, and it feels reassuring and familiar and new. It feels real again like it hasn’t in a long while.

Niall jerks awake when Rose starts wailing, and he’s on his feet and stumbling toward her room without further thought. He stubs his toe on the edge of the mesh baby cage thing, and he lets out a few choice curse words. Harry pokes his head out of the laundry room, his face twisted up in a cringe. “Well. Definitely your baby, Horan.”

Niall flips him off and pushes into Rose’s room. She’s standing up with her little hands wrapped around the bars of her cot like Niall’s put her in jail. He plucks her out of the cot and cradles her close to his chest, rocking her back and forth in his arms. She stops crying for a second, her tiny mouth working, and then the sobs ratchet up again louder than ever.

Harry brings a basket full of freshly washed bibs and baby clothes to Niall’s guest room and dumps it out on the bed. He starts folding Rose’s tiny onesies and itty bitty trousers and stacking them in neat piles. “Have you tried a bottle?” he suggests.

Niall sighs. “Not since this morning. I’ll go warm up a bottle.”

“Yes. Good. Give the baby to me,” Harry says, making grabby hands at Rose.

Niall thinks about warning Harry of Rose’s hair-pulling habit. He’d had it short, in an undercut, the last time Niall had seen him. That was, what? Last Christmas at Liam’s and Louis’s label holiday party? Maybe even before that, at Philip’s third birthday party. He’s getting shaggy again, and Niall knows Harry’s not a little concerned about premature baldness.

“She may throw up on you,” Niall warns. “And she drools a lot. And her nose runs when she cries.”

Harry gives Niall an exasperated look. “If you don’t let me hold your baby this minute, Niall –”

“Okay, okay.” Niall passes the baby off while Harry croons his delight in Rose’s face, the wrinkles by his eyes impossibly deep as he smiles.

He goes to the kitchen and powers up the bottle warmer. It’s slow as hell but Niall’s not discovered another way to do it yet. Denise has left a note saying she’ll see him in a couple of days, and to enjoy the casserole in the oven. So much of this baby stuff was Theo’s. Niall still needs to order Rose stuff of her own.

Niall digs a fork into the lukewarm casserole, not bothering with a plate. His nap wasn’t long, but it seems to have done the trick, or maybe that’s Harry. Even when they were up till the asscrack of dawn recording Four in muffled hotel rooms and that tiny little creeper van, Niall would just have to catch Harry’s eye and share an unspoken joke and they were off.

Harry blunders into the kitchen with the same pigeon-toed gait as ever. He has Rose balanced on his hip, and for once, she’s quiet. Niall pulls the bottle from the bottle warmer and raises his eyebrows at Harry. “She’s chewing on my shirt,” he laments. “This is Burberry silk, Niall.”

“Want me to take her back?” Niall offers, half-smiling.

Harry turns, shielding Rose from Niall. “No, no. It’s fine.”

“Good.” Niall passes Harry the bottle. “I’ll be back.” He goes to his room, where the covers are still pulled back on his bed, yesterday’s laundry still piled on the floor. It’s a mess, and Niall cringes looking at it. He strips out of his grimy gray t-shirt and replaces it with a navy blue one and calls it a day. Then he goes to the bathroom.

Not five minutes later, Harry comes to find him. “Niall? Where’d you go?”

Niall thinks about not answering him. His trousers and pants are gathered around his ankles, and he’s just flipped open the latest issue of Air & Space. He sighs. “‘M in the toilet, Haz!” Niall wishes he could say he’s shocked when he hears the doorknob jiggle.

“Your house is in a tip,” Harry says. “Don’t you have a cleaning service?”

“Harry,” says Niall, “I am trying to do a shit here.”

Harry fishes his phone out of his skintight jeans. “Hold on just a tick.”

Niall can feel his face getting redder and redder. “What the hell, Harry.”

“‘M gonna put this on another mug,” Harry says, biting his lip as he sorts out the shot. “Give it to your mum. Or maybe my mum.”

Niall digs down deep. He’s forgotten how to adjust for the band’s annoying habits: Louis’s stinky feet, Liam’s bossiness. Harry’s total lack of boundaries. “Harry,” he says, keeping his voice level, “get the hell out of my bathroom, please.”

“Fine,” Harry says, lowering his phone. He readjusts his grip on Rose, whose spit has all but soaked the front of Harry’s ridiculous top. “But if you have a wank in here, we’ll know.”

“Because I’m really worried about you knowing shit about me,” Niall mutters, rolling his eyes. If he doesn’t have a wank, it’s just because he doesn’t want to give Harry the satisfaction.

They settle down in the living room with a couple of beers. Rose goes back into her little baby cage. She looks like a wee little bobcat, with her ruffled hair and set face. She sucks on her dummy and watches Niall and Harry with curious eyes.

“A bit eerie, isn’t it?” Harry comments. “Looks like your mum. We aren’t doing anything bad, Maura, I promise.”

Niall snorts out a laugh and tilts his head, trying to see it. He can see Harry beside him with his head angled like this, and that feels more eerie than anything. They’d lived out of each other’s pockets for six years. Niall keeps expecting to turn his head and see Harry with full-on lion’s mane and that cross necklace, and instead he finds himself looking at a Harry with neat curls, tattoos peeking out of the collar of his shirt.

Niall traces his finger around the lip of his beer bottle and considers how best to phrase this. “Not to be rude, but, like. What are you doing here? Really.”

Harry folds back into himself a little. “What do you mean?”

“It’s been, what, a year? Not that I’m not happy to see you, I just, like. I don’t even know if you’re on tour right now or what.”

Harry starts pulling at his bottom lip with his forefinger and thumb, and it’s like there’s two Harrys: the sixteen year-old one Niall watched do this as they pored over lyric sheets trying to decide which song to perform, and the twenty-six year-old one Niall’s looking at now, with ink Niall’s never seen before and laughter lines Niall doesn’t know the cause of. “You mean you haven’t been keeping tabs on all of us?”

“You make it sound like I’m some kind of Bond villain,” Niall says.

“Don’t deflect,” says Harry, and Niall bristles. God, he’s forgotten what a pain in the ass Harry can be. How awkward and uncomfortable it is for someone to know him so well. “Sorry, sorry. I don’t want to fight with you, Nialler.”

Niall rubs his face with his hands. “No, me neither. We can just, like. What was that thing Liam used to do all the time? Redo?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Harry says with a soft smile.

It’s hard to find a place to start. They touch on surface stuff. Niall’s got some work left to do on his debut album. Harry’s supposed to have another one out later this year. He’s dating Taylor again. Life goes on, with or without each other. That’s a sobering realization.

“How long you staying for?” Niall asks, when they’ve done catching up. Rose’s started crying again, so he’s wearing a slow circle around the room, bouncing her in his arms.

“Just to the end of the week,” Harry answers. “Taylor wants me back for the Rockin’ Eve gig.”

Niall hesitates, then, “You can come to the christening, if you like. It’s on Sunday. But you don’t have to, if you’ve got other stuff –”

“Niall,” Harry says. “Obviously I’m coming to the christening.” He brightens. “Can I be –”

Niall laughs. “No, godfather goes to Sean, so don’t even ask.”

Louis makes it to the christening as well, mostly as an apology, Niall thinks. Harry gives them both a hug before he ducks into the car to the airport. He lingers over Rose, who’s stubbornly pouting in Niall’s arms. She spilled the entire tray of grape juice from the Eucharist on herself. Her dress is a violent shade of purple, and she’s so sweet and sticky that Niall’s getting a headache just from holding her.

With one final kiss to Rose’s ruddy cheek he’s gone, and Louis and Niall settle in Niall’s kitchen. Niall strips Rose of her stained dress and lets her make an absolute mess of her lunch locked into her little high chair.

“So,” Louis raises one eyebrow, “what’s next, Horan?”

The label’s been after him with the same question all week. Niall can see the door to his basement recording studio across the living room from where he’s leaning against the kitchen counter. He hasn’t been down since he’d gone up to take that call. He wonders if anyone had bothered to clean up his uneaten sandwich and Coke.

Niall shakes his head. “What do you mean, what’s next?” He jerks his chin towards Rose. “That’s what’s next. Like, seventeen years of next.”

“Niall,” Louis sighs through his nose. Niall bristles, but he also wants to hear what Louis says. He wants Louis to tell him what he wants to hear. “Your album’s almost done. Even a few more weeks, you could drop it in the spring.” His voice gentles. “No one expects you to give up your whole life, you know.”

Niall turns around and leans his elbows on the counter. He covers his face with his hands. It sounds so reasonable and logical when Louis lays it out like that. That’s the way it’s always been, even from the Up All Night promo days, when they never seemed to sit down, much less rest. Some nights Niall still wakes up convinced he’s got to put on a pair of heels and race a journalist around a gym.

Rose’s bowl clatters to the floor, and Niall goes over and gives it back to her. She’s still not eating out of it, but watching her try to wear it as a hat is much better than letting her cry out of frustration. He intercepts the bowl on its next pass and thumbs over the soft top of her skull. Her tiny hand catches on his pointer finger and her wee fingers curl around his thumb for a split second. She starts shrieking again as soon as she realizes that the bowl’s gone again, but.

But Niall knows he can’t just dump his kid in a daycare for the next two months – because it is months, not weeks – to get his album finalized. He thinks of how badly he’s wanted this for the past year and a half, and how hard he’s worked to be proud of it. Then Niall thinks of the life he’s had, and he knows he can’t be that selfish. He owes too much back.

He hands Rose the bowl. Rose looks round at him, and it’s like she recognizes him for a second, like maybe his face is becoming comforting in its familiarity. He’s not sure what to say, but Louis’s looking at him when Niall’s done. Niall realizes he doesn’t have to say anything at all.

***

The accident happens on an otherwise normal day. Niall wakes up early for a quick shower and then he makes Rose’s usual oatmeal with blueberries. By the time the water’s boiling, she’s ready for Niall to free her from the cot he’s pretty positive she hates, if the way she’s chewed her little teeth marks into every bar is any indication.

All the baby furniture’s come in, and Niall spent one incredibly long weekend with Greg and Theo putting it all together. Turns out handiness is not a part of the Horan make-up. The bed and chest of drawers that used to be in Niall’s guest bedroom is stowed away in his garage, and now he’s got a cot and changing table laden with Rose’s layette. He never thought he’d be quite so familiar with changing nappies.

On Mondays and Wednesdays, Mark comes over and they take Rose out for a walk through the neighborhood or the nearby park in her push chair. It’s always good to see someone from the old days, especially someone who knows Niall so well. Plus, it’s like Niall’s only assured time with another grown-up. It’s kind of hard to make it to the pub with the boys for a quiz night with a baby at home.

He’s downstairs transferring a load of laundry from the washer to the dryer when he turns, his arms full of whites, and his knee just…stops. Suddenly it’s like he’s got no knee at all, and he collapses to the laundry room floor. White lightning streaks across his vision, and he can’t quite breathe, it hurts so badly. Hot tears track down his face, and he grits his teeth. It takes everything Niall has not to pass out.

His cell phone is upstairs on his bedside table, and the nearest house phone hub is around the corner in the studio. He can’t fathom dragging himself a dozen feet, let alone up the stairs.

Worst of all, he’s left Rose alone to faff about her room with her clutch of toys, but Niall’s brain is suddenly springing with all the horrible things that could happen. She could figure out how to get the protective cover off the electrical outlet and shock herself. She could figure out how to turn the doorknob to her room and tumble down the stairs. Niall closes his eyes and tries very, very hard not to be sick.

Suddenly Niall does hate Jessica for leaving him alone with this. What he wouldn’t give for help that doesn’t make Niall feel vaguely guilty, like he’s trying to fob off his kid on Maura or Bobby or Denise for a few hours instead of needing just a moment’s reprieve to get something done.

But she’s not here. No one is. Niall starts the agonizing journey from the washing room floor to the stairs. He’s on the third step up, the front of his shirt stained with his vomit, when he passes out.

He halfway wakes up when someone crouches over him on the stairs. They turn him over and he blinks into the overhead light, everything blessedly out of focus. The voice is edged with panic, and Niall wants to assure them, but he’s unconscious again before he gets the chance.

Niall had known that something was up with his knee. He’d even been to see the doctor about it, buckling Rose into her car seat in the back of his Range Rover and struggling with her for the jar full of tongue depressors while they waited for the doctor to get to Niall. She kept trying to chew on them, and he was worried about her getting a mouthful of splinters.

The problem was, there was too much scar tissue for the scans to reveal very much. All the docs had to go off of was Niall’s self-reported pain, and he could never quite bring himself to talk about having to tape an ice pack to his knee for a whole day or the shot of whiskey before bed to fall asleep. He’d just hoped it would pass, like some kind of growing pain.

Niall wakes up slowly, his mind muddled with drugs. His stomach churns with nausea from the prescriptions and his mouth tastes like he’s been breathing with it open, dry and stale. He can’t remember the doctors putting him under but he does recall a familiar smile and a warm palm on his arm. “Harry?” Niall coughs. His voice is so hoarse he might’ve said anyone’s name.

Blearily he makes out his mother pressing a cup of water to his lips. “Drink,” she orders him, and Niall does, because he is not a total idiot. Niall realizes that he’s not nineteen, waking up in a hospital in Colorado from his first surgery. He’s twenty-seven, and Harry’s not here, and they haven’t got a charity match to show up to, a stadium tour to live up to. It’s just him, and –

“Where’s Rose?” Niall asks, the beeping from his heart rate monitor picking up speed.

“Fine,” Maura says, dabbing at Niall’s forehead with a damp washcloth.

He can feel the fever in the way his arms and legs feel weak, and he’s covered in a clammy sheen of sweat. Niall swallows hard. He looks down at his leg, which is wrapped up in sterile white gauze. “They operated, then.”

“Had to,” Maura says shortly. She sits back in the uncomfortable-looking hospital chair. He knows they must be in a private hospital, but even the most expensive hospital chairs are uncomfortable. It’s like a rule.

Niall glances around the room. He remembers these tacky tan walls from various consultations. “The Blackrock Clinic?”

Maura nods again, pressing her lips together. It dawns on Niall that she’s mad at him, and he feels himself shrink a little under the covers. “I hope you know –”

“Ma,” he cuts in, “we don’t have to -”

“Hope you know,” Maura overrides him, her eyebrow raised threateningly, “how terrifying it was,” her voice breaks, “to find my son like that. You might be all grown up but you don’t have the right to act like a selfish fool.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Maura settles back in her seat and unfolds a magazine, and Niall drifts in and out of consciousness for the majority of the afternoon. The doctor comes to see him around four, and Niall comes to slowly. His head is full of music, chords from different songs trying to play themselves all at the same time like Niall’s brain is a broken jukebox.

The doctor introduces himself, and then he peruses Niall’s chart. “Well,” he starts, “we did everything we could. At a certain point, the ligament in your knee will be more scar than ligament, and we’re fast approaching that point.” Niall tenses, his stomach tight.

It’s the stupidest thing, but if the doctor’s about to tell him he won’t be able to walk again then the thing Niall will miss most is standing out on the golf course early in the morning. Mist still covers the well-manicured grass, and the sun is low and the light dim and soft. It feels like time stops, and Niall can catch his breath.

“We’re not there yet, though,” the doctor tells him, and Niall lets out an audible sigh of relief. “You’ll need to start an intensive course of physio, and of course you won’t be weight-bearing for at least a month, but if all goes well, we should have you back on your feet again before festival season.”

The doc sounds well-pleased with himself, but Niall’s got one major concern. “Not weight-bearing? I’ve got a one year-old at home to take care of, I can’t –”

“You don’t seem to understand the severity of your injury,” the doctor says. “Amputation isn’t out of the question somewhere down the line. You understand that, don’t you?”

Irritation creeps into Niall’s voice. “Yeah, I get that. I’ve heard it all before.”

“Then you’ll kindly shut your mouth,” Maura cuts in. “Obviously I’ll come stay with you while you recover.”

Niall would almost prefer the amputation. “Maura, you can’t – I can’t –” She shoots him a quelling look and Niall falls silent, leaning back against his pillows while Maura and the doctor discuss his case. Apparently his input isn’t needed here.

God, but he has to find a way to get his mother out of his house. It’s just as annoying as Niall predicted in the hospital room. She insists on doing things her way, which is very decidedly not Niall’s way. His bath towels end up in the wrong cupboard and his dishes are rearranged in the kitchen, and his and Rose’s morning routine is totally upended. Niall can’t take it.

“You’ve got to help me out,” he says on the phone to Greg one day. “Have another baby. Break your leg, Greg. Something.”

“Ha ha,” Greg says, sounding distracted. “You’ll be fine. It’s only for a few months, right? Listen, I’ve got to go. Denise will be over sometime soon with Theo, alright? Later.”

“Bye,” Niall tells the dial tone, and hangs up slowly. Sometimes he forgets that he and Greg aren’t both brothers and friends. It’s not something he knows how to fix.

“You could let him stay,” Niall suggests, subtly, he thinks. He and Denise are watching Theo and Rose toddle around the back garden together. It’s nice and cool and only a bit damp. Theo has them playing some game where they’re animals, and Rose’s crawling around on all fours. Her little nappy-covered bum pokes up into the air like Simba’s tail in The Lion King, and Niall smiles.

Theo is, hands-down, Rose’s favorite person in the world. The second she sees him, she stops fussing and toddles around in his shadow like she’s on cloud nine. Niall would be jealous, except that he’s glad she’s picked someone he can have over any time he wants.

Denise just laughs. “Thanks for the offer, love, but we’ve got to get home pretty early tonight. Family night,” she adds. He’s only heard her talk about this the last few weeks, and from what he’s gathered, Greg has only made the last two out of three. It’s not exactly a stellar ratio.

Niall tries to decide whether he can ask. “You and Greg, uh…” Denise holds his eyes, and Niall wonders what she’s looking for. He doesn’t think he’s surprised that they’re having problems. Greg’s got the same family as Niall, and they’re not really a family at all. Not like Zayn or Harry had, with their parents and siblings and family trips to Blackpool and Stonehenge and all that shite.

He’s been getting along with Rose alright, but sometimes he puts her to bed in her little chewed-on cot and she looks up at him, and it’s like she’s asking, You’re nice and all, but isn’t there someone else?

“You’re projecting,” Bressie had said when Niall told him about this one night over a few too many pints. “You don’t have to worry about her being deprived of material stuff, so you’re worrying about her being deprived of love.”

“Hm,” Niall hummed sullenly.

“That’s why you should get back into the dating game,” Bressie encouraged him, setting his tankard down on the bar so excitedly that beer slopped over the side.

Niall had just laughed. “I don’t think anyone’s crazy enough to give us a go.”

“Nialler,” Bressie shook his head. So Niall had tried. Given it the old college try, as Louis would say.

Sometimes, the dates are terrible from the get-go, Bressie’s friend circle so wide he’s got a couple of proper loonies in the mix. He’s had a few good dates, too. It’s just, they get to the end of the date and Niall leans in to kiss her cheek goodbye and she’ll mention seeing each other again later, and. Later is a nappy change before bed and sweeping up Rose’s latest mess and laundry. Later is renewed paparazzi interest and invasive fans and first days of school. “Sure,” Niall says. He never calls back.

Harry Skypes Niall and Rose on the regular. He’s always dead persistent that he sees Rose as well as Niall, so he’s up at ungodly hours in LA to catch them after Rose’s nap, when she’s at her most tolerant. Unless she refuses to nap, but that’s another story.

When his face pops up on screen this time, though, he looks tired and frazzled, his eyes wide and a little manic, like he hasn’t slept much but he’s still been running at full steam. It reminds Niall of the first time Harry had broken up with Taylor. He’d come to rehearsals for the Take Me Home tour with his eyes rimmed in red, and he’d given one hundred percent every day as if to make up for it. Or maybe to escape from it.

“Haz,” Niall says. He touches the top of Rose’s head, and she stops driving a toy car all up and down Niall’s arms to give a look to the screen. Her mouth opens and Niall thinks she’s finally about to say something, anything, and then it closes again, and she continues trying to fit the car under Niall’s collar. “You look terrible, mate.”

“Thanks, Ni, love you too,” he laughs. “Hi, Rosebud. You’re looking more beautiful and intelligent every day.” Rose rolls her head back against Niall’s chest and he smiles at the way Harry’s whole face goes soft. “Honestly, Niall. How did you get so lucky as to have the most perfect baby in the world, and I can’t write a single word?”

Niall smooths his hand over the top of Rose’s head. “You still haven’t broken your writer’s block?”

Harry slumps down, resting his chin on his hands. “I’m as blocked as you wish you were before we ever went on TV.”

Niall scowls.

“Hey,” Harry suddenly sits up straight. “I’ve got an idea.”

“Oh, excellent. Shall I put it away with ‘We ought to call this album ‘The Root’’ or ‘What do you mean, I shouldn’t wear leather pants to a photo shoot in the desert?’”

Harry pouts. “I mean, I was only going to tell you how you could get poor dear Maura out of your house, but I guess not.”

Niall can’t help the way he perks up a bit. Not that it hasn’t been nice having her around the past couple of weeks, but Niall would like to live in his own space, not his mother’s. He’d thought it would be nice to have another adult around to help with Rose, but it’s actually more frustrating dealing with having to ask her for help than to just do it himself.

“Alright. Okay. I’m sorry. What’ve you got?”

“Why don’t I come stay with you for a bit? We already know we can live together. I’ll write my album, you can be as anal as you want about the way your towels are folded. It’s a win-win,” Harry rattles off excitedly. Niall doesn’t think he’s heard Harry talk this fast since that night at the bar in Austin when he’d talked Niall into riding a mechanical bull.

He thinks it over. “Why the fuck not.”

Harry cheers on the screen, and Rose almost falls out of Niall’s lap, she’s so surprised.

***

“Hello hi I love you,” Harry says as soon as he slides into the car. Mark shuts the boot and walks round the driver’s side to take the wheel, and they’re off.

“Thanks, you too,” Niall says dryly. He adjusts the sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose and turns in his seat to look at Harry, who’s leaning delightedly over Rose in her car seat. Harry’s hair is even shaggier than it was the last time Niall saw him, though it hasn’t quite achieved lion’s mane levels yet. He looks paler than Niall expects, and his cheekbones look especially sharp, like he’s lost weight. Niall frowns.

Harry smiles harder, his dimples so deep Niall thinks about losing a five pence in one. “And, of course, you, Nialler.” He leans out of his seat and presses a sloppy kiss to the side of Niall’s head, and then he leans over and kisses the side of Mark’s head, too. “And Mark, my dearest.”

“Alright, alright,” Niall protests. If Harry feels like he’s got to show them each how much Harry loves them, they might be stuck in this car forever. “D’you want to pick up some food on the way home?”

“Well, I am on a cleanse,” Harry contemplates.

“Nando’s it is,” Niall and Mark say at the same time.

Harry finally buckles his seatbelt and starts petting Rose’s head. His hand’s so big he could probably cradle her whole skull in one giant palm. “Love it,” Harry smiles at her.

Harry spends the first few days following Niall around everywhere he goes. It’s not hard, because Niall’s stuck hobbling around on a crutch like some kind of bloody invalid, but Harry could try a little harder not to breathe down the back of Niall’s neck. There’s only a couple of reasons Harry was ever this clingy, and Niall wonders about them.

“You don’t have to come,” Niall reminds Harry. He’s got shadows under his eyes and his hair’s greasy at the roots like he’d been too tired to shower before bed last night. Niall wonders if he got anything written at all, or if he just stayed up all night staring at a blank page.

Harry gives Niall a skeptical look. “If you’re going to be this annoying about me doing exactly what I want this whole time, I will warn you now, I will stop responding to it. I will go to my happy place and I will cleanse my aura from your negativity.”

“Do you listen to even half the shit you say?” Niall asks.

“Should we stop cursing around the baby?” Harry muses. He picks up Rose from her mound of stuffed animals on the floor and lifts her up in the air, making airplane sounds. Rose looks down at Harry like he’s mad, and then she looks at Niall like, Really? Niall just shrugs.

One of her stuffies starts blaring a song, and Harry jumps, as startled as if fireworks had gone off. “Is that…did you stick an iPod inside one of her toys?” Harry demands.

Niall scans the carpet and picks up the stuffed elephant. “Basically, yeah. Denise told me to try a gray noise machine, but she’s quieter in the car, and I thought, maybe partly it’s because of music.” He pokes at the elephant’s belly until the music quiets. “She’s got good taste,” he says proudly.

“What song was that, anyway?” Harry asks, taking the elephant in his hands.

“‘[All I Want Is You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Gwahh04Y1Y),’” Niall answers. His neck feels hot.

Harry thinks about it. “What, like, ‘From the cradle / to the grave,’ U2?” His eyes light up dangerously, and Niall knows he’s been caught out. He goes over to Rose’s layette and digs through it for an outfit. Harry leans his hip against the changing station. “Be honest, Nialler. Is this playlist just a bunch of songs with the word ‘baby’ in it?” Niall’s neck feels hotter, and Harry breaks out into one of those high-pitched screechy laughs.

Even so, Harry helps strip Rose out of her wee little Frozen 3 onesie and Niall slides a pair of tiny trousers and a sweatshirt onto her before she can start fussing. Niall contemplates forcing her into a pair of gloves, too. It’s finally starting to warm up but he worries about her anyway. Well, if she gets too cold Niall can just stuff her under his jumper. Or Harry’s. Harry would love that.

“Okay.” Niall hands Rose back over to Harry and slides a pair of socks and soft booties onto her feet. “Let’s get groceries.”

“I don’t like this,” Harry says. He and Harry have grabbed a cart and sat Rose in the front so her little legs dangle out and kick them at crotch-level when the balloon they’ve given her almost slips out of her grasp. They’re standing in the first aisle of the local Tesco.

Niall rubs a hand over his face. “Harry.”

“How about a nice farmer’s market?” Harry suggests, his voice low and melodic, persuasive. Mark watches them with a smile on his face, his arms crossed over his burly chest. People here don’t really think much of Niall out and about anymore, but he’s surprised no one’s tried to stop Harry and take a picture. It might have something to do with the hunting cap he’s borrowed from Niall and the two day-old bristle on his jaw he’s convinced looks dashing rather than pubescent. “Nice organic food, nice local businesses to support. You’re Irish, you should know something about that.”

“If I knew you were just going to bitch the whole time, I wouldn’t have let you come.”

Harry chastises him, “Language, Niall.”

“I’ve a list to get through. You can wait in the car if it bothers you that much, but –”

Harry’s hand curls over Rose’s shoulder. “No, no. I’ll see it through.”

Even though all he does is bitch and moan the whole way through, and he loads Niall’s cart up with fruits and vegetables Niall could swear he doesn’t recognize from the hundred times he’s been to the store before, it’s kind of nice to have Harry there. Niall’s felt like his world has been slammed off kilter since he found out about Rose, so it’s good to have a bit of the familiar around. Like having the same blue tablecloth in Sarah’s Kitchen no matter where in the world they were.

“I’m going to make you the best smoothie,” Harry’s telling Rose when Niall slides into the backseat. Mark’s returning the cart to the cart rack. Harry peeps over the top of his seat, and for a split second, they’re in Japan filming for This Is Us, and Harry’s just promised Niall one of his surgical masks. Ireland is the best country in the world, he wants to say, nonsensically.

Niall pushes his dark fringe out of his face and forces himself back to the present. “What are you talking about? I thought we agreed on beef stew tonight.”

“It’s for dessert, Niall.”

“Oh, obviously,” Niall laughs. “Dessert smoothies. You know, if you put ice cream in them, we can call ‘em sundaes. And they’d taste better.”

Harry’s eyes narrow dangerously. “Don’t you dare.”

Niall puts Rose down for a nap after they sort the groceries away into Niall’s kitchen, and he heats up the CrockPot and tosses in a chunk of beef to marinate for dinner. Then he grabs an ice pack and goes to take a nap himself. He passes the doorway of Harry’s guest bedroom. Harry’s redecorated a bit, making the space his own for his stay, and Niall stops, hesitating. Harry’s in the garden with his journal, so Niall knows he won’t be up anytime soon. He bites his lip. He shouldn’t snoop.

He snoops.

Niall finds a handful of postcards from Grimmy on his honeymoon trip around Europe posted to the wall, and a letter from his mum dated a couple of days ago, because she’s classy like that. Harry also tacked up a few photographs on the space above his desk. Niall’s surprised at how many faces he recognizes. One is from one of Jeff’s family functions, the Azoffs spread out around a pool. Another is of Stevie Nicks caught mid-laugh as she cuts into the cake Harry baked for her birthday a few years back.

There’s also a picture of the band from the Where We Are film, the five of them standing with their arms around each other at the end or the beginning of the concert, Niall can’t remember. His breath catches, and he feels both heavy as a stone and utterly weightless at the same time. Niall remembers himself at their campfire saying, “No matter what we do we’ll never, ever beat this.”

Niall hadn’t known Harry kept One Direction stuff around. He thought maybe Harry had let it go, moved on, and never looked back. Maybe Niall was wrong.

Harry left his phone upstairs when he went to write, and it lights up now, with a call from Taylor. Niall lets it go to voicemail and makes a note to tell Harry to check his phone next time he sees him when the phone goes off again, this time with a text. In for a penny, in for a pound. Niall looks at it. It’s Taylor again, and she’s written, “Harry, call me back. We need to talk.”

That doesn’t sound good.

Niall’s starting to feel kind of itchy under the collar, though, so he’s careful to leave Harry’s room as he found it, and he goes to lay down on his own bed. The ice pack isn’t cold enough anymore and his knee throbs dully, and it takes a long time for Niall to get to sleep. When he finally nods off, his sleep isn’t restful, and he wakes up too hot and irritable.

He also wakes up to Harry’s big ‘ol eyes on him. Rose’s head is pressed up under Harry’s chin, and Niall closes his eyes for a moment to process. Harry’s smiling when Niall looks at him again. “We’re hungry,” Harry tells him, nudging Rose gently like she might chime in and agree with him.

Niall heaves a sigh. “Alright then,” and goes to make dinner.

***

Physical therapy is goddamn medieval torture dressed up as medicine. Niall’s on his feet again with a limp that comes and goes depending on the weather, and he knows he has the doc to thank for that. But he also knows that his nurse is a sadistic bastard who wants to see him cry.

Willie drops Niall off from physio with a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and a promise to come by for dinner on Saturday. Niall makes the grueling trip up the driveway, peels off his sweat-soaked shirt, and flops down on the couch. He grits his teeth, determined to get through it this time. He needs to stop relying on an ice pack and a rest so much. Rose’s getting older and she’s only going to wander farther, run faster on her chubby toddler legs, and he needs to keep up.

He starts in on a breathing exercise Savan taught him ages ago. If he blocks out every other thought that clogs up his brain like an overstuffed turkey, then he can wait it out.

He comes to with a jerk when an ice pack is laid gently on his knee. The cold feels delicious and numbing and Niall wants to cry with relief. Harry’s standing over Niall, his face dark. “On a scale of one to ten…” Harry starts.

“Forget it, Haz. It’s –”

“I hate it when you do that,” Harry cuts him off. “Torture yourself. Act like it’s nothing. You don’t have to make it so hard.”

His face feeling very hot, Niall says, “Then you don’t have to watch.”

Harry just snorts. “Do you still keep your pain meds in the alcohol cabinet?”

“Stop. I’m not taking those.” Niall pushes himself up until he’s mostly sitting upright.

“You know it’s not just you that’s going through this, right? Rose’s been glancing at the door every other minute for the past hour waiting for you to come home, and you’d rather prove you don’t need anyone’s help.” Harry sounds properly mad, as angry as Niall’s ever heard him. Niall is more than a little surprised. He’s hit with guilt, and he presses his lips together in a firm line, working his jaw. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to…I just, like. Worry about you.”

Niall feels like he’s been slapped. “You worry about me? While you’re here, you mean, and then it’s off on another breeze, just like it’s always been.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about every time we weren’t doing a show for the last two years we were together, what d’you think I’m talking about? Jesus, Harry. Zayn quit the band but you might as well have.”

Harry’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “Is that what you’ve not been telling me all these years? For Christ’s sake, Niall, I was scared! One Direction never felt safe and I just wanted to have something left when it was over. That doesn’t give you the right to tell me I don’t care! You don’t get to tell me I don’t love you.”

Harry and Niall stare at each other. Harry’s eyes are wet, and Niall’s throat is clogged. Niall swallows hard. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

When Harry laughs, it sounds wet, and he swipes at his eyes with the back of his hands. “God, yeah. Me too. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, but, like. I love you, too.”

“Even when I’m being too pushy by half and nagging you like your mum?” Harry asks. He still sounds like he might cry any second.

Niall huffs. “Just give me a hug so we can go back to annoying the shit out of each other without it meaning anything.”

Harry squeezes himself into the narrow space between Niall’s hip and the arm of the couch he’d been leaning his head on and throws his arms around Niall. He buries his face in Niall’s throat and holds on hard. Niall would be lying if he said he wasn’t holding on just as tight.

“Do I really annoy the shit out of you?” Harry asks later, when the ice pack’s gone soft and Niall’s back is kind of starting to cramp. Niall rolls his eyes, pushes Harry away, and walks toward the kitchen with just the hint of a limp. “You love me!” Harry calls at his back, laughing to himself.

Niall just shakes his head. If he’s smiling a bit, too, well. Harry doesn’t have to see.

“We should take Rose on holiday,” Harry’s saying when Niall pulls his head out of Keith Richards’s autobiography. He’s been meaning to read it for ages. “All she ever sees is the house and the park and the store and, as of this Sunday morning, the farmer’s market – we agrEED, NIALL,” he drowns out Niall’s protest, “– and she can’t, like, grow as a person that way.”

His fingers trace the edge of the book. Niall looks at Rose, who’s carefully arranging a line of monkeys along the edge of the coffee table. She’s closing in on two years old and she still won’t talk. Niall had taken her to a speech therapist for a consultation and she said not to worry, that it wasn’t that unusual for kids who have gone through something traumatic to be a little slower about things like this.

“Something traumatic,” she’d said. Niall wonders how much of her mother she’ll remember, whether she’ll want to remember her at all.

“I dunno, I think that’s pretty normal?” Niall guesses. He remembers taking the Dublin-Sligo train before the sun had even come up to catch a match with Bobby at Croke Park. He can’t remember very many other trips, but then, he never had the holiday of love family experience Harry had. Maybe he knows what he’s talking about. “Alright. If you think so.”

“Somewhere quiet,” Harry muses. “I’ll look into it.”

Niall just nods.

Volcano Choir’s new album plays over Niall’s phone and he’s buttoning his shirt up for Sunday mass when Harry comes into his room. He tosses Rose onto Niall’s bed and she shrieks with joy. She clambers to her feet and starts bouncing on the mattress, and Niall cringes. What if she falls? Sometimes he wants to wrap her in bubblewrap and seal her into one of those clear hamster balls from the “Live While We’re Young” video shoot.

Harry’s already dressed, and he looks dapper in his classic black suit and tie. Word’s gotten out that Harry’s here, and Niall realizes that maybe that’s what Harry meant about “some place quiet.” Some place he won’t be found. Niall wonders if there’s any point in telling Harry about wearing out the weirdness over sheer time.

“When’s the last time you had a shag?” Harry asks. Niall’s fingers fumble with the last button on his shirtsleeve, and Harry glides forward and does it up for Niall himself. “It’s just,” Harry goes on conversationally, “I haven’t seen you pull the whole time I’ve been here. And all that physio is making you well fit.”

Blood rushes up to Niall’s face. “Jesus, Haz.” He wraps Rose up in his duvet and then shakes it out like a rug, and she comes rolling out laughing hard, her ruddy cheeks very pink. Her eyes stay trained on Niall, and she lays on her back in the ridiculous frock Harry put her in and the smile on her face doesn’t go away even when she stops laughing.

When Niall looks round, Harry’s lowering his phone with a wide smile on his face. “So?” he prompts.

“So, fine, whatever. We’ll go out with the lads this weekend.”

Harry cheers and holds up his hand to Rose for a high-five. She reaches out uncertainly, and Harry slots their fingers together, his dimples deep.

When Niall drops Rose off at Bobby’s for a Granddad’s movie night with Theo, Bobby winks at him. “Don’t have too much fun,” he says, glancing at Harry, who’s got Theo locked around one foot like a small human boot. Niall just sighs. His dad’s well on his way to going away in the head.

Bressie’s club is crowded and hot, and the table is sticky. Niall sets down his mug and fidgets with a nightclub sticker peeling off the tabletop. He plucks at a bit of hair above his ear with his other hand. He needs a haircut. It curls over the back of his neck and around his ears, he’s let it go so long.

Willie and his fiancée knock back shots as Eoghan looks on. Siobhan and a few others had started the trickle back to Ireland after Bressie established himself, so his club’s like the formerly-LIC-turned-IC hub. Harry’s pressed up against Niall’s side, his pinky and ring finger brushing up against Niall’s thigh whenever Harry’s not taking a sip of his ale.

“Okay then,” Harry says, tongue slipping out to lick up his foam mustache. Niall thumbs it away for him without thinking and licks his thumb clean while Harry talks. Niall fights the urge to roll his eyes. “It’s time for you to pull out the Irish magic, Niall.”

Normally pulling isn’t something that Niall sets out to do; he just meets someone and it happens. He’s not quite worked himself up to striking up a conversation with a stranger yet, though. He’s shorted out on things to talk about; his life is a near-constant loop of dirty nappies and physiotherapy. Great ice-breakers.

“Here, you can practice on me,” Harry says. Niall glances around the table, hoping that no one else has heard this conversation. It’s just the two of them left at their booth, though, the others having gone off to dance or get off together in the bathroom.

“I’ll set up the moment. It’s a fine spring night in Ireland, and we’re at one of the greatest pubs I have ever been to. Your baby’s being happily sat by Denise and He Whom Rose Has Wrongly Decided Is Her Favorite. I am very alluring. I am very single. Now. Seduce me.”

“Wow, Haz,” Niall coughs. He’s feeling a little flushed, and he’s not sure why. “That’s a great setup. You should be a professional storyteller. Maybe a…” Harry’s groaning before Niall even gets it out. “Raconteur.”

Harry grabs Niall’s wrist, and his hands are cold against Niall’s skin. “No, no,” he laughs. “I said seduce me, not make fun of me.”

“Made you laugh, though. That’s step one.”

His eyes light up. “Oh, that is very good. Okay.” Harry cozies up to Niall even more, tilting his head so that he’s looking up through his lashes. It’s ridiculous and Niall knows Harry’s only joking, but he’s never noticed the little flecks of amber in Harry’s eyes before, and it’s making him feel like Harry could be someone he’s just met. A stranger in a pub, and Niall goes up and introduces himself. He wonders what happens next. “So what brings you to a place like this?” Harry asks.

Niall has to try very hard not to roll his eyes. “Dunno, I guess. Guess maybe I wanted to remember who I was.”

“You don’t seem like the kind of person to forget,” Harry says. His eyes are locked on Niall, and the joking tone has gone out of his voice. “You seem like the kind to keep everyone around you sane.”

“Really?” Niall feels hotter than ever, and he suspects there’s a blush climbing up his throat. His heart’s going fast in his chest. He licks his lips and he thinks he sees Harry’s eyes flicker down for a millisecond. Harry’s fingers, which have been resting against Niall’s jeans, start to slide more resolutely over his thigh. The heat from Harry’s palm is an exquisite point of contact, and Niall can’t help but close his eyes.

Willie comes back to their table and sets a couple of shots down in front of Niall and Harry. Harry pulls away with a little laugh, and when Niall opens his eyes he looks startled, like someone’s thrown another bra at him onstage. Niall shakes off his stupor and curls his fingers into his palms anxiously. They each take their shot. The alcohol burns on the way down.

“Anyway,” Harry says, a little breathlessly, “I think you’re good to go, Nialler. I’m going to get another beer.”

“Yeah, okay.” Niall downs his own beer.

Harry’s gone for so long that he starts to wonder if Bressie’s tap is broken when he spots Harry up at the bar talking to a girl. His eyes are heavy-lidded, his lips shiny with alcohol. Harry on the pull is always an entrancing show, like a snake-charmer with their pipe, and Niall watches the way Harry leans in, his chest practically bare in his unbuttoned shirt. The rings on his fingers glint in the low light as Harry’s hands flutter about, and his curling hair brushes the tops of his shoulders when he throws his head back and laughs, his throat on display. Niall catches sight of the girl’s face and he can tell that Harry’s fully got her under his spell, and he looks away. He doesn’t need to see the rest.

Something inside of Niall twists around. Harry’s already done this once to Taylor, does he really need to do it again? It’s on her behalf, Niall thinks, that he doesn’t cut Harry off three drinks earlier than he should. He can think about what he’s done while he’s got a hangover tomorrow.

Harry pauses on the way out of the pub to redecorate one of Bressie’s pretty cigarette cisterns, and Niall bundles him into the minicab without much help from Harry himself. Harry’s head lolls against Niall’s shoulder, and Niall smooths Harry’s sweaty hair away from his face in spite of himself. Unconscious and unguarded like this, he looks stressed out, faint shadows under his eyes and lines that come out around his mouth only when Niall’s not looking. Maybe there’s more going on here than Niall knows. It’s about time he found out.

***

Belle and Sebastian is playing “[Ease Your Feet in the Sea](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DcZL3e42wEs)” when Harry pulls the car into the driveway, and it’s so intentional and ridiculous of him that Niall laughs. “Very nice.”

“I do try, Niall,” Harry smiles back. He and Niall both twist to look back at Rose, who’s sucking on a couple of her fingers in the backseat. “How about you, darling girl? You appreciate my efforts, right?”

Niall’s not really listening for a response. He’s wondering whether or not they can grab all their bags in one trip, and what to have for dinner. He doesn’t want to order in for their first meal but he might literally pay a thousand pounds for a pizza right now. “Ni,” Rose murmurs. Niall’s not sure he’s heard right at first, but his heart just about stops nonetheless. He turns to Harry to check and Harry’s flailing hand catches him in the face.

“Did you –?” Harry whispers.

Rose sticks her finger up her nose. She looks at Niall, kicking her little feet against her car seat, and says quite definitively, “Ni.”

“Oh my God,” Niall whispers.

“OH MY GOD,” Harry repeats. He reaches over and pulls Niall into a hug. It’s an awkward angle and Niall’s ribs ache against the console, he and Harry are pulled so tight together, but he’s so glad that there’s someone else here for this. That Harry was there.

They unload their bags and Niall goes to get the boiler working while Harry starts unpacking them. They’ve got a little two-room cottage in Tramore for the next week, and Niall’s finally starting to feel excited about it. He remembers a couple of trips to the coast while he was growing up, but it’s different now. Time has seeped away all the color and intensity from Niall’s memories of the beach but this little piece of the South Irish coast is unforgettably green and blue.

The pilot light jumps to life and Niall shuts the panel. Harry’s there with his hand out by the time Niall’s done, and he accepts it gratefully. It takes nothing short of a forklift to get him off the ground these days. “So, like. I know we packed enough food to cook, but I kind of really want takeaway right now?”

“Perfect,” Niall says. He calls the nearest pizza parlor and they’re backed up with orders, so it’ll take them about half an hour to get out to their little cottage.

“Perfect,” Harry repeats. “Want to take a walk while we wait?”

The cottage backs up right onto the Irish Sea. The coast is long and low and flat, unforgivingly bare, but the sunset reflects onto the water and the sand and it feels like a world apart. It feels a little bit like magic. “Okay,” Harry says, when they’re watching Rose run up and down the beach with her shadow flickering over the dunes like their very own Peter Pan revival. “Tell me I did good.”

Niall reaches over and pulls Harry into a one-armed hug. He knuckles the top of Harry’s head and remembers Liam doing the very same thing to him for the “What Makes You Beautiful” video. It feels like a lifetime ago. It feels like yesterday. “You did good.”

Harry hits the ball with a resounding thwack, his body twisted over like a pool noodle. A wide smile lights up his face. He whoops. “Niall!” He holds his golf club over his head and starts dancing around with it the way he would a microphone stand. “Did you see that shot!”

“I think I was blinded by someone’s embarrassing granddad dance moves,” Niall tells him. Harry pretends to throw the golf club at Niall’s head, and he ducks for effect.

Rose points at Niall. “Ni,” she tells Harry, and he bustles over to offer his apologies for pretending to kill her da.

Niall lines up his own swing. His knee doesn’t feel great, but it’s bearable. The green is so quiet, so still. They’re here during peak tourist season but they have the whole course to themselves, seems like. He can’t remember the last time he’s been on the green. There are a lot of things Niall hasn’t done since he’s had Rose, but he’s starting to feel like himself again.

They have lunch at the Sandcastle Shop at Harry’s insistence. It’s kitschy as hell and a total tourist trap, but Niall’s saying so doesn’t stop Harry from buying them all an “I Came to Tramore For the Sandwiches” t-shirt. “They’re cute,” he’s saying, “and you can give it to Greg as a Christmas gift if you really don’t want it.” As much as he’s been whining, Niall knows he’s not going to give the shirt away to his brother.

“Excuse me,” interrupts a girl while Niall’s trying to clean ketchup out of Rose’s hair and bickering with Harry about organic fucking baby wipes, of all the shit. “But are you the guys from One Direction?”

To be fair, Niall has wondered when this would happen. Rose’s looking at him curiously, and he knows this will probably be a thing her whole life. Even if he never puts out another record. His past isn’t something he can ever leave behind.

“Yeah,” Harry answers. His voice slows down another notch so he can leave himself another beat to think before he speaks, and it’s all so familiar that Niall might blink and they’re at another book signing, Zayn dozing off between waves of people on Niall’s shoulder. It puts him on edge, makes his gut twist up hard and tense and anxious. He tries to tuck Rose a little further into his side.

The girl fidgets with the strap of her purse. “Sorry to bother you, I just, like.” She laughs self-deprecatingly. “When is this ever going to happen again, you know?” The girl bites her lip.

“That’s alright,” Harry soothes her. “We’re always happy to meet a fan. It’s our pleasure.”

“I just, yeah. I don’t really know what I came over here to say. Just, I’m really looking forward to your new record. And, um. Maybe I could get a picture?”

Niall and Harry lean together like a door sliding home to block Rose from view. “Not this time, sorry,” Niall says. “But Harry would be happy to sign something for you. Wouldn’t he, Harold?”

Harry smiles at the girl. “Of course. And Niall too. If you catch Louis at a Rovers game you’re that much closer to a full set,” he jokes.

“Like Pokemon cards,” Niall adds. “We’re a lot more valuable that way.”

The girl laughs, they sign her phone case, and she’s gone. It wasn’t as pained as some of their interactions have been over the years, as with fans who honestly think Harry and Louis are anything more than mates. Or were, Niall supposes, technically. He’s not sure where they stand now. But it still makes him uncomfortable, and he palms the top of Rose’s head, stroking her dark feathery hair.

“I’m sorry,” Harry breaks the silence in the car. Niall’s been staring out of the window. He can see his reflection in the window pane; storm clouds have rolled over the village, and Harry’s flicked the headlights on. The waves sound loud and close. “I thought this would be the last place anyone would recognize us.”

“‘S not your fault,” Niall tells him. Rose’s working on kicking her boots off in the backseat. That’s her new thing, taking her shoes off and putting them back on over and over again. It reminds Niall of practicing the same song until his fingers were calloused, and he understands her that much better.

Germy newspapers have already printed candid pictures of Niall and Rose out and about at home, just. Niall thinks of Zayn, and he knows she ought to have a choice. He knows she probably won’t get one.

They troop into the cottage just as the rain begins to come down, and Niall puts Rose down for a nap. They’re sharing his bed for the week. It used to scare him, the thought of rolling over her in his sleep, but he’s got to sleep on his back with his leg elevated now. He lays down beside her and watches her little body inhale, exhale, over and over again until his eyes are too heavy to keep open.

Niall wakes up to a hand on his shoulder and for a split second, he thinks it’s Paul come to wake him up from a nap at the back of the tour bus. Instead it’s Harry with an apologetic look on his face. “Sorry. Just, if we let her sleep for much longer she’s going to be up all night.”

“Right, yeah,” Niall breathes. Harry goes around the side of the bed and gently wakes up Rose. “Where’ve you been?” Harry’s hair and the tops of his shoulders are damp like he’s gone for a walk in the rain. Niall wonders if he’s lost his mind. He’s got the immune system of a walnut.

“Took the trash out,” Harry shrugs. “Reception’s better outside, too.”

“The label?” Niall guesses.

Harry bites his lip, his deliberate calm breaking down a bit. “Yeah. They want to know when to book the studio. A couple of demos would be nice, too.”

“Well, that’s not too bad,” Niall says, thinking of that last album, and the race it had been to get it out in September instead of November. “You’ve got the tracks, right?”

Harry suddenly becomes very interested in the pattern of Niall’s blue quilt. “Actually…” The stress on Harry’s face that night with the LIC makes sense now. Niall’s never had writer’s block unless you count now, but then, he’s not been trying to make music, either.

Harry flops down onto the bed next to Rose and pulls her over his chest. He props her up on his feet and lifts her up into the air so she’s stretched out like Superman, and she looks down in surprise before she decides she likes it, hooting delightedly. Eventually Harry lets her drop down to his chest and digs his fingers into the ticklish spots under her arms and at her sides, and she cries with laughter, her arms outstretched toward Niall. “Ni!”

It still sends a warm shiver down Niall’s spine every time she says his name. He rescues her from Harry’s clutches and carries her with him to the kitchen. Harry trails after them arguing that it’s his turn to make dinner, and he’s going to make them a vegetarian casserole whether they like it or not.

Niall is in the kitchen washing dishes when he hears a guitar being played, badly. At first, he tries to ignore it. He’s just given Rose a bath and left her to babble herself to sleep with the toy elephant and giraffe.

But it’s either getting progressively louder or worse, because by the time Niall shuts the water off, he can’t take it anymore. Harry’s sitting on his bed with an acoustic guitar in his lap. Niall had seen him pack it and not said anything. He can’t tell if he wants to play it so badly that his hands hurt, or if he wants Harry to put it away and not dredge up stuff Niall’s carefully left untouched. Probably a bit of both.

“How have you not gotten any better?” Niall demands.

“Not all of us were born with a guitar for a third arm,” Harry sniffs. “Also, hurtful.”

Niall pushes the rest of the way into the room. He grabs the desk chair and rolls it over. He can see out the window from the corner of his eye. Rain riddles the sea like bullets and the dark storm clouds hang just above ceiling height, but Niall doesn’t have the panicky crushed feeling he sometimes gets. The little house feels cozy with his baby asleep in the next room and Harry’s lip jutting out in a pout.

Niall sighs. “Give it here, then.” Harry passes the guitar over with a self-satisfied smirk. Niall strums the chords and tunes the guitar by ear, listening hard. He’s rusty, and he wishes he hadn’t let his fingertips get soft from disuse. He glances at Harry, and Harry’s leaning back on his hands, his head tilted. His eyes are soft and bright, and it takes Niall a long moment to find the right word. He looks content. “What?” Niall asks, self-consciously.

“Nothing. Just good to see you like this again, ‘s all.” Niall scoffs quietly and looks back down at the guitar, his cheeks pink. Harry nudges Niall’s good knee with his toes. “Well? Give us a song, then.”

Niall strums the strings and lets his mind go blank, and the chords to “Something Great” rise to the surface of his mind. They never did bring that track to a stage but Niall had learned it anyway, mostly out of loyalty to Gary Lightbody. Tired Pony invited Niall to a jam session a couple of years back and their track together is one that Niall’s most proud of.

It takes Harry a moment to recognize the song, and then he smiles. When he starts singing the chorus, it’s instinct for Niall to join in. They transition seamlessly into “Where Do Broken Hearts Go,” and from there it’s just a hop and a skip to “Fool’s Gold.” Harry’s high notes are still a challenge for him, so Niall quietly backs him up. Reinforces the sound. Harmonizing was one of his favorite parts about singing in the band. Louis had complained about not having enough solos but Niall didn’t mind; he liked having a spotlight but not feeling like it was so bright as to be blinding.

Harry’s lying flat on his back when Niall looks away from the strings. The sting in his fingertips is familiar is sharp and welcome. Harry absent-mindedly scratches his belly, his jumper pushed up his stomach. He can see the laurels on Harry’s hips, and the bottom edge of the moth under Harry’s hand. Harry’s tattoos are stupid as hell, always have been, but Niall’s grown fond of them after all these years. Harry had offered to let Niall tattoo something on him once and Niall shut him down quick. He thinks he’d give him a crutch now, if offered the chance again.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Harry starts, his voice treacle-slow. “How we started out wanting to make, like, ‘Hell Freezes Over,’ and ‘Rumors,’ you know, records that changed peoples’ lives, and somehow we’ve ended up here.”

The last ten years flash past Niall’s eyes. “Nah,” he says. “It’s not weird at all.”

***

“No offense, but a walking tour with us is, like. You’ve got an almost-two year-old and a guy with a bad leg. We’re not exactly walking tour material.” Niall makes his voice apologetic, but Harry still deflates a bit.

Harry’s got that feverish, intense look in his eyes again. “It’s just, there’s a lot of history in the area, and Rose should have an appreciation for this stuff.”

“Plus some of it is going to look very good on your Instagram feed, you posh fu- er, geek,” Niall stumbles. He’s cutting Rose’s pancake into bite-size pieces for her. Harry stands over the hob, his hair pulled back from his face with a secondhand scrap of fabric like it’s 2013 again.

Harry smiles wide, his dimples deep. Niall’s sad the week is almost over. They’ve been golfing and swimming and built a bonfire on the beach and roasted marshmallows. They’ve taken Rose to Pitch and Foot to play a hybrid of football and golf. “Get her started early,” Harry had suggested with a wink.

“How about the amusement park?” Niall offers.

Harry dresses Rose while Niall gets her diaper bag packed, and he’s just swinging the strap over his shoulder when he turns and finds Harry and Rose in the doorway. He splutters out a laugh. “What in the hell are you wearing?”

They’re both dressed in their “sandwich” t-shirts from the diner. “I let Rose pick it out,” Harry says proudly. “See? I knew she’d like her shirt.”

“You look ridiculous,” Niall says, but only because his chest feels a little tight. He notices for the first time that their hair kind of looks alike, and in their matching outfits, Rose could be Harry’s kid.

Harry just tosses his head. They load up the car and get Rose buckled in and they’re off. The amusement park is something out of time, a moment from the 1970s preserved in amber. The attractions and soft pretzel stalls and hamburger and hotdog booths are all painted bright colors, and the sea reflects the string lights and the Ferris Wheel’s slow turns in the sky. The speakers blare “[Atlantic City](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M3eu1gW-bQ8)” totally unironically and Niall can’t help but laugh.

“I love this place,” Harry says immediately. He swings Rose up into his arms. “Rosebud, what do you think?” She wriggles free and slides down his legs to run over to the nearest ring-tossing booth, her eyes glued to a giant teddy bear hanging from the post. Niall groans to himself. He knows without looking that Harry’s got that dead-set look in his eyes again, so he resigns himself to Harry’s long battle with the glass Coke bottles.

(In the end, Niall just pays the booth attendant fifty quid. The pimply teenager passes over the bear with a smile.)

They take Rose on the kiddy rides, and Harry suffers Niall buying her cotton candy and funnel cake with powdered sugar piled on top. Niall sits down on a bench for a break and watches Harry and Rose on the antique merry-go-round, Harry’s bearing regal, like Rose is a real princess. He cracks by the second lap of the merry-go-round and Niall snaps pictures of them mid-laugh. He sets it as his phone background screen. Lock and home.

Niall shows the picture to Harry when he and Rose disembark from their steed. Harry’s got Rose balanced on his shoulders. “You can send it to Taylor,” Niall suggests. “I mean, I know she’s not Liam. She won’t drunk-post it to Twitter.”

Harry’s face shutters. Niall watches him in confusion. “Yeah, maybe,” is all Harry says, but he doesn’t say anything more about it.

“So, like,” Niall pushes when they’re in the car on the way home. Harry glances at him and he looks like he knows what’s coming, like he knows Niall’s decided not to let Harry get away with saying nothing anymore. “What’s up with you and Taylor?”

“We broke up,” Harry says, dragging a hand through his hair. It moves his headband and a curl falls over his eyes. “Actually, she dumped me.”

Niall can’t say he’s surprised. Not that Harry can’t keep himself to himself anymore, but because he hasn’t been acting like Harry in love. He can tell Harry doesn’t want to tell him why. “Sorry to hear it, Haz.”

“Yeah,” Harry’s shoulders slump. He glances at Niall and his eyes flicker up to the rearview mirror. “Yeah, but, you know. Hasn’t been all bad.”

“Nah,” Niall agrees.

They get home from Tramore and it’s not like anything’s changed, but something’s different. Harry’s not just in the other room anymore. If Niall is in the kitchen, then he’s sat at the table with one of the posh leather-bound books Niall’s interior decorator stocked Niall’s shelves with; if Niall’s in the living room, then Harry’s curled up in the window seat, his pen flying across the page.

Rose’s vocabulary grows exponentially, and she goes around pointing out every dog they pass with, “Dog!,” a dramatic point of her arm, and a decent impression of Harry’s pleading eyes. It takes everything Niall has to keep his will firm. He doesn’t need a fur ball with fleas and teeth to take care of on top of Rose.

Niall gets back from dropping Rose at Denise’s for a sleepover with Theo and can’t find Harry when he gets back. He searches the living room and kitchen, and then he checks all the bedrooms. Maybe he went on a walk. Then Niall realizes where Harry is. He hasn’t been to the basement since his knee blew out the last time, and the stairs pitch Niall’s head into a fit of vertigo. He gets to the bottom of the stairs and rests his palm against the wall, breathing hard.

He can hear a guitar from the studio, though. Niall walks slowly to the door. Harry’s sitting on a stool with one of Niall’s acoustic guitars in his lap. His eyes are mostly closed and his mouth’s just a little bit ajar, his lips pulled together like he might be about to start whistling. Niall gets why Harry’s been put on People Magazine’s Most Beautiful People list.

“Testing out your new material?” Niall asks, knocking one knuckle against the door.

Harry looks up and flinches, his face turning self-conscious. “Nah, ‘s been inspiration. ‘M practicing,” his fingers run up the strings, making them sing. Harry laughs. “Do you want to play with me?”

“Yeah, sure,” Niall says. His heart beats very fast, and his hands tremble to hold a guitar. He picks out an acoustic bass from the racks on the wall. “Okay,” he settles down on the stool opposite Harry’s, and Harry smiles, sitting forward so that their knees brush. He pushes the lyric sheets over so that they can share, and Niall can already hear the melody building in his head.

“It’s ‘All Flowers In Time Bend Toward The Sun,’” Harry says. “I’ll be Jeff if you want to do Elizabeth Fraser’s part.”

Niall nods. “Sounds good.”

Their voices sound as good together as they ever have, Niall’s tenor soaring over the top of Harry’s gravelly baritone. When they hit the final chorus, their voices open up, full throttle, and it’s like they’re standing on stage in a stadium in front of eighty thousand screaming fans again, it feels that much like flying. Like riding a bike.

Harry runs a hand through his hair, his face alight with a smile. He catches Niall’s eye and they share a laugh. “Hey,” Harry says.

“Hey,” Niall echoes, only a little wry. He can hear how fast he’s breathing when Harry takes his face between his hands and pulls Niall’s forehead to his.

“I really missed you,” says Harry. “Let’s never go that long without each other again, okay?”

Their eyes are open and, this close together, Harry’s face is mostly a blur. But Niall can make out the color of Harry’s eyes, and the cut of his cheekbones, and the curve of his lips. He could be sixteen or forty, and he would still be so familiar.

Niall turns his head back and forth a bit, brushing the tips of their noses together. Harry laughs, his face crinkling up in laughter lines. “Yeah,” Niall agrees.

***

Rose turns two in July. Niall throws her a party. He stands over the grill, turning hamburgers and hotdogs so they cook evenly. He’s got corn on the cob and eggplant slices wrapped in tinfoil cooking, too. Denise is in charge of the salad, and Bobby’s helping Niall toast the buns over the coals.

It seems like the whole of their neighborhood has shown up. Denise spread word to her mom-friends so Rose is surrounded by a gaggle of other tiny children, their little heads bobbing in the pool. Rose’s sitting in a floatie shaped like a dragon, and Niall’s already gotten about a hundred pictures of her.

“Did you ever think our own Niall would be so domestic?” Louis asks, elbowing Liam in the side as they approach. Liam laughs.

“Don’t talk to me about domesticity,” Niall pretends to scowl. “Don’t think I haven’t seen you two prowling around my party dividing up the kids for your water gun war.”

Louis chuckles, one side of his lip going up in a competitive snarl. “What, are you worried about your chances?”

“Philip is half an army unto himself,” Niall points out. Louis’s son had pulled out his weapon early and shot Niall in the crotch when Niall went in to give him a hug. So far he’s also managed to get one of Niall’s lounge chairs into the pool and lose his swim trunks in a round of army crawling among Niall’s hydrangeas.

Louis’s chest puffs up. “Yeah.” He pretends to wipe a tear from his eye.

“Where’s the missus, Payno?” Niall asks.

“Believe it or not, she trusts me to come to a children’s birthday party alone!” Liam laughs. “Ah, she’s got that Comic Relief fundraiser to run. I wish she could’ve come. She would love Rose.”

“Yeah,” Louis starts, and he’s got that edge to his voice like he’s driving at something. “When are you going to bring her to London and introduce her to everyone? You’ve got nothing to hide with her, she’s like an angel. By the way, are you sure she’s yours? I mean except for her whole face, she’s nothing like you.”

Niall swats at Louis with the spatula. “Bugger off,” he laughs.

“But seriously,” Liam adds, his brown eyes wide and imploring.

“What the,” Niall starts. “Are you two label-ing me? Is this what you do to your acts? It is, isn’t it? You’re label-ing me! Theo, Rosie, help! Your uncles are teaming up against me!”

Louis wrestles Niall into a headlock and Niall almost singes off an eyebrow ducking out of his grip, but it gets him thinking.

Niall presents Rose with a homemade cake and she blows out the two candles he stuck into the top, and when everyone cheers, she flinches.

Harry calls while Niall is cleaning up. He’s filled up four bags of paper plates and utensils and silly string and streamers and heaped them up at the kerb. His washer’s gone through three loads of dirty towels and he’s got a couple left to go, but he thinks the party was a success. Rose’s passed out on Niall’s bed with her fingers curled around the giant stuffed pony Louis brought. Niall boosts himself up on the counter and listens to the dishwasher run and Rose’s stuffed elephant playing “[Hotel California](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lrfhf1Gv4Tw)” from the living room.

“Well, of course it went well,” Harry’s saying. “Rose is the best child in the universe.”

“I bet you say the same shit about Lux and Phil to their parents, but thanks, Haz,” Niall laughs. He plays with the hem of his swim trunks. “How’s the album going?”

Harry mimics his agent, “Slated for release this November, so please, Harry, don’t get sick. Or get sick now while we don’t need you to work.” He snorts out a laugh. “I dunno. I like it. I hope everyone else likes it.”

“Yeah, but if they don’t. Fuck ‘em anyway,” Niall says. “And yes, I do mean that both ways.” They lapse into an easy silence. Niall plucks at the bottom of his shorts harder. “Louis and Liam want me to move back to London. They could use a producer, and, like. But it’s stupid to even think about it. My family’s here, Rose’s whole world is here. I don’t even know why I’m considering it. I mean, I’m not.”

Harry’s breathing carries through the line. “Okay,” he starts slowly, and Niall’s heart skips a beat. “But, like. You could.”

Niall spends the next few weeks getting his life sorted out for the move. He’s not got that much stuff, per se, to move; the benefit of having enough money for two of most anything. But he has guitars that he has to bubble-wrap and songbooks to find scattered around his studio and amps and effects pedals and a couple of vintage microphones.

There’s also all of Rose’s stuff to think about. He studies her room while she plays at his feet with a set of wooden blocks. She always builds a tower that inevitably collapses and smashes her toes or bonks her on the head, but she cries every time he tries to take the blocks away. Denise says that’s normal, even if it seems borderline insane to Niall.

Rose’s cot has her teeth marks in the bars, still, and she’s figured out how to climb over the bars. Niall’s mornings are a race against time; he’s got to get her out before she falls out of the cot and busts her head open. Maura has told Niall that’s not possible, but. He’s not going to take the chance.

“New country, new house. New bed?” Niall says, raising his eyebrows at Rose.

“Dog,” she chirps, and Niall groans.

Niall was working on the score for a Broadway revival of “Arcadia” when this all happened, but according to his hazy memories and Liam’s whispered commentary, Louis won the fight to base his label – and thus, his family – out of London by a hair. Apparently it came down to the schools. Niall is vividly reminded of how close a thing it was when he goes to pick Louis up before his first day of work at the studio and Louis’s followed out the door with a shouted, “LA never has snowstorms, Louis Tomlinson!”

Louis slides into Niall’s passenger seat and waves for him to peel out. Niall accelerates at a safe pace. Rose’s at Lou’s with Lux for the day, but he can’t get out of the habit of driving with precious cargo.

“What was that about?” Niall asks, glancing at Louis sideways.

“She misses her family,” Louis says. “Do us a favor, Niall. Never accidentally make a baby with someone from another continent. I mean,” he waves at Niall, “not again, I guess.”

Niall snorts. “I didn’t know…like, are you going to move?”

“I just got the X-Factor gig, I can’t move now,” Louis sighs, slumping down in his seat. “But I know she’s miserable. And she’s done her time here, you know? It’s not fair of me to expect more. I just want to have it all.”

“Yeah,” Niall nods. “I get it.”

Liam’s there to greet Niall and Louis in his office, and he introduces Niall to everyone from their label. It’s a small office but he’s already been asked to go out for drinks after work with them, and there’s a mom with a five year-old with good advice on how to get Rose potty-trained.

Niall’s first client is a post-punk band called Stillwater from Camden with a Pearl Jam-meets-James Bay kind of sound, and they could pull it off if their guitarist wasn’t fully terrible. He spends about four hours working on their songs, and then he and Liam go to lunch. Liam checks his phone about forty times, each time with that pinched look on his face like someone’s just told him there’s a minor change in their tour schedule.

“What’s going on?” Niall finally asked, when Liam sets down his fork and pushes his lo mein away from himself one half-hearted bite into the meal.

“My dad’s having tests done,” Liam says.

Oh. Niall swallows, looking down. “Do you know…?” Niall starts hesitantly. Liam shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Liam.”

“‘S okay. Nothing to apologize for yet, alright?” Liam’s voice is low and fierce, and Niall nods. He’s never quite heard Liam like that before.

Niall settles into his new schedule without much fuss. He only has to go into the office a couple of days a week, and on those days Rose stays with Lou or Gemma, who’s started work on her dissertation. “Are you going to Harry’s album release party?” Gemma asks him one evening when Niall comes to pick Rose up.

She’s watched Rose so that he can go into the recording studio and rerecord most of the Stillwater’s guitarist’s parts. He’s not sure how he’ll explain that one to the guitarist, or Liam, but. Jesus, he just can’t listen to that guy mangle the strings anymore.

Gemma’s let Rose try on some of her makeup, and Niall wants to wipe it off right now, because she is not old enough to look like that. Niall is not ready to be the parent of a teenager, Jesus Christ. “Hm?” he asks distractedly. “Oh, yeah, yeah. Next week, right?”

“Yeah. He’s coming in late, though, after Jeff’s Thanksgiving do, and he was planning to stay with me, but do you think you could have him, instead? I mean, it’s Harry, I’m sure he’s got plenty of options. But I’d sound like a much better sister if I was offering to let him off the hook to see you than if I wanted to get a good night’s sleep before a meeting with my advisor.”

Rose squeezes Niall’s hips with her knees, boosting herself up to rest her head on the top of Niall’s shoulder, and Niall knows he needs to get her into the car before she falls asleep. “Yeah, for sure.” He leans in to kiss her cheek. “Love you, Gemma. Thanks again.”

“You too, babe. Later, Nialler. Bye, Rosie!”

Niall is eight remixes deep into Stillwater’s latest track when he spots a figure on the stoop on his security camera. Harry waves at the camera, and Niall takes off his oversized headphones and pushes away from his desk with a skip in his step.

Harry falls forward into Niall’s arms when Niall opens the door. He buries his face in Niall’s neck. “They make Hugo Boss differently in the states,” he says. “I missed you so much I went to a department store and it didn’t smell the same.”

“I’m pretty sure what you’re smelling is my manly musk,” Niall says. “Also Rose’s My Little Pony bath bubbles.” He maneuvers Harry into the Covent Garden row house. It’s a lot smaller than his house in Ireland, but Rose loves the street performers on the Piazza, and they’ve already decided on their favorite curry place right around the corner.

“Are you hungry? Want a beer?”

“I’m on a cleanse – don’t laugh, I mean it this time – but I’ll take a beer. Cheers.”

Niall grabs a Guinness for each of them and a tupperware of grapes, because he knows what Harry’s like on a cleanse. Harry’s already kicked off his boots and his coat and he’s working on his socks when Niall gets back. “Jesus, mate. Save something for the wedding night.”

Harry scoffs and grabs for the beer only slightly less rabidly than he grabs for the grapes. Niall watches him shove two handfuls in before he even starts chewing.

“Jesus, you’ve got an enormous gob.”

“Hey,” Harry drawls indignantly. “I’ll have you know, I’ve gotten lots of compliments on my mouth.”

Niall rolls his eyes. “I know. I remember you reading them to me, mini-Mick.” He smiles. “Are you nervous about the album?”

“Well, it hasn’t leaked yet, so that’s something. I dunno, I kind of wish it had leaked – don’t tell the label that – because then I’d know if people liked it already. I just want them to like it.”

“I know,” Niall says soothingly. Harry drapes his legs over Niall’s lap and scoots up against him, so they’re as close as they can be without actually sitting on top of each other. Harry’s fingers sneak up Niall’s leg through the rends in his jeans and he jerks, spilling beer on himself, when Harry fingers his new scar.

Harry’s beaming at him when Niall looks over. “Ha, ha,” he says softly, like he’s won something.

Niall’s about to say something, he’s not sure what, when he spots movement out of the corner of his eye. It’s Rose trailing her old giraffe stuffie, and she rubs at her eyes sleepily. “Ni?”

“Rose,” Harry murmurs. There’s still wonder in his voice, even after spending all that time with her. Her eyes lock onto him, and he spreads his arms wide. Rose launches herself into Harry’s arms, and they tip back onto the sofa. Niall lets himself close his eyes.

He’s opening them just a few hours later when Rose pokes him in the cheek. “Tummy hurts,” she says, and promptly throws up all over herself. Niall goes from dead asleep to wide awake in the span of a few seconds. He throws back his covers and carries Rose to the bathroom so she can continue puking into the toilet. Niall searches the medicine cabinet for a thermometer, but he’s misplaced it in the move, and how can he not know where the fucking – oh. The guest bathroom.

The light in the guest bathroom flicks on and Niall rifles through the shit he’d stashed behind the mirror in the move. He can’t find the fucking thermometer.

“Ni?” Harry asks, his voice hoarse. “‘S that you?”

“Yeah,” says Niall tersely. “Rosie’s sick, I need the – fucking finally,” he seizes the thermometer and pulls it out, mindless of the diaper rash cream and toothpaste and Neosporin that come clattering out after. Harry’s sitting up in bed when Niall passes through, and Rose’s crying so hard she can’t breathe when Niall comes back to the bathroom. He peels her disgusting nightie off and leaves it on the floor. He’s just scooping her up when Harry stumbles in, his hair a bird’s nest. Big Bird’s nest, maybe. Niall sticks the thermometer under her arm and holds it there.

“Can I help?” Harry asks. “Niall. How can I help?”

“Run a bath?” Niall answers. “I mean, run a bath. Cool, not cold. If she’s over forty degrees –” He’s interrupted by the thermometer going off, and he checks the reading. He lets out a loud sigh of relief. “Okay. Thirty-nine. It’s alright, Rosie.” He strokes his hand down her back. He thinks she might steam up the bathroom when she hits the cold water, she’s so hot. Her sniffles lessen, and she clings to him hard.

Harry turns the faucet and the water shuts off. Niall pulls Rose’s nappy off – it’s clean, thank God – and puts her in the bathtub. She fights like a wildcat for him not to let go of her, and he feels as bad as he ever has about holding her down in the tub. It’ll feel good in a minute, when she’s not burning up and her skin’s not sticky and smelly with vom, but she doesn’t want to hear that. He feels like he’s killing her.

“It’s alright,” Harry says, his big hands joining Niall’s on Rose. “It’s okay.” Niall’s not sure which of them he’s comforting. Maybe all of them.

“I’m sorry,” Niall says, for maybe the fifteenth time. He’s stopped counting. “I’d be there if I could.”

Harry wraps both Niall and Rose into a hug on the stoop. “Niall. Don’t worry about it.” He kisses Rose sloppily on the cheek, his hand curved around the back of Niall’s head.

“I’m sorry,” Niall repeats anyway.

Harry just rolls his eyes. “I’ll see you tonight,” he says, and then he leans in and meets Niall halfway. Niall feels Harry’s soft lips against his for an instant before Harry’s stroking Rose’s head one last time and bounding down the steps to the waiting car.

It’s not until Niall is upstairs looking for Rose’s favorite sweater that he realizes he’s just kissed Harry. It had been so easy, natural, to lean in, like they’d already done it a hundred times before. It doesn’t feel like a big deal, and that’s what alarms Niall most of all.

After they’d gotten Rose out of the bath, Niall had dressed her in one of his shirts and bundled her up in his bed. It’s not like he’d fit in her toddler bed. “Budge up,” Harry had said, on Rose’s other side.

“What are you doing? You’ve got an album coming out, Jesus, you can’t get sick.”

“Niall. Honey. Budge up, please.” So Niall had scooted back, dragging Rose with him, until Harry had enough space to lay down on her other side.

“Ellie,” Rose murmured.

“Her elephant,” Niall translated. “She wants the music one.”

Harry fetched it for her and Niall poked at it until it started up, playing back a Jose Gonzalez song. Niall didn’t think he’d sleep, but he dozed off in the middle of “[Every Age](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I_iY2RQWNzM)” to Harry’s thumb slowly stroking the back of his hand.

Niall spends the day doing everything he can to keep Rose happy. She has another cool bath, and he feeds her warm chicken noodle soup. He spends a couple of hours, her normal nap time, rocking her. It’s not something he does enough, Niall thinks. He strokes her hair back from her forehead. It’s not so feathery and fine anymore. “Sorry, Rosie.”

“Why you are sorry?” Rose asks. Her voice goes up and down on the words like she’s piecing them together from different contexts. Like she’s learned by mimicking.

It still sends a shock through Niall when she busts out talking. “I don’t know, baby.”

Rose thinks about this, looking up at him. There’s nothing shuttered or defensive about her. She just exists in the world exactly as she is. She plays Wendy to Philip’s Peter Pan without complaint, and she eats most of her vegetables, and anytime she draws a mermaid she insists that Niall cut it out so that the mermaid can be free to swim. And she still wants that damn dog more than anything.

“I love you,” Niall tells her.

“I love you,” Rose replies. It doesn’t sound like she’s just echoing him.

***

It’s like once Harry stays the night he just…never leaves. Niall gave him the spare key to let himself back in after the album launch party and Harry just keeps it. Or maybe it’s just that Niall doesn’t ask for it back.

They go out for drinks with Liam and Louis one night after work. Rose is spending the evening with Lottie getting in touch with her feminine side. Niall’s not sure how he feels about all that except that he doesn’t know enough to decide yet, so he drops her off before work with a kiss.

“Are you coming to the company party?” Liam asks Harry. Niall knows what he’s really asking. Is Harry going to be in town long enough to come to the label Christmas party? Niall traces his finger around the rim of his beer mug and pretends not to be interested in Harry’s response.

It’s just. It’s nice, having Harry around. He knows Rose almost as well as Niall does, and she adores him, and he loves her with characteristic intensity. Niall knows what it’s like to be loved like that. It’s like being at the center of the universe.

“You know you’ll have to bring us a present,” Louis says. “Actually, several. You missed Philip’s fifth birthday, that’s one. Then the housewarming, and the label opening. Don’t think you can get out of it, Styles.”

“Philip hasn’t turned five yet!” Harry cries, his eyes crinkling up with a smile. “I would know, I have a calendar specifically for of my friends’ babies’ birthdays.”

“You know, mate, I don’t think you’re joking,” Liam laughs.

“How’s your dad doing?” Niall asks Liam. Liam’s been shuttling back and forth between London and Wolverhampton for the past few weeks, but that’s all Niall’s gleaned from chats with Sophia when she stops by the office to meet Liam for lunch. Niall’s been so busy that he hasn’t had time to sit down with Liam and ask until now.

Liam and Louis instantly sober. “Not so good,” Liam answers. His eyes turn downcast, and he takes a sip of his lager without smiling.

“If there’s anything I can do,” Niall offers. He’s not sure what he could do, but. He’d do anything for Liam. There have been days on tour and in meetings where Niall thought he might literally lose his mind if Liam wasn’t there to make everything calm and sensible. To remind them that it was worth it.

“How about you?” Louis asks, his eyes boring holes into Niall. Niall feels himself go on guard as if they’re teenagers again, and Louis is about to test Niall somehow. Challenge him, make him prove himself. Niall had wanted to do that so bad, in the beginning. He’s seen Theo do the same thing to Rose, and he understands it better now. “How’s the Deep Pond album going?”

“It’s Stillwater,” Niall grumbles, “and, like. Actually. I should probably tell you, those last few tracks I sent. It was me on guitar?” Niall clears his throat.

“Well, that would explain it!” Liam laughs. It only sounds a little bit forced. He leans back into his seat. “I thought their guitarist had just been having us on or something.”

Louis leans forward, folding his hands on the table like he means business. It makes Niall’s stomach hurt a bit. “If you’re the studio guitarist, why not go on tour with them?”

Niall’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “You mean join another band?”

“Why not?” Louis asks, holding his palms up. “Rose has her choice of babysitters, and you’re obviously way better than the lad they’ve got now, so what’s stopping you?”

“I.” And God, but he doesn’t expect that offer to sound so tempting. He has a mad desire to run home and throw his things into his bag and jump onto the nearest plane. He feels Harry’s eyes on the side of his face, and it feels like he’s betraying him somehow. Niall’s head spins. He licks his lips and rubs the tip of his calloused pointer finger against his thumb over and over. “I dunno, mate. I’ll think about it?”

Louis opens his mouth to protest, but Liam cuts in, his voice not quite hard, but tough. Firm. “That’s fair, Nialler. Louis, why don’t we go get the next round, eh?”

Harry’s quiet at Niall’s side in the car on the way home. They pick up Rose en route, and Lottie hands her over with a smile. Rose goes soft and sleepy against Niall’s shoulder from the moment he picks her up, and she goes down easy in her little toddler bed. Harry follows Niall upstairs to put Rose to bed, and Niall leaves Harry to murmur to her until she falls sleep.

He goes into his own room and lays down on his bed. His knee feels miraculously alright, and his last check-up went well. He throws his arm over his eyes – he’d forgotten to turn the light out – and takes a deep breath, trying to sort out his head. He feels muddled and indecisive, and he’s tired of second-guessing himself.

The lights flick off. Niall hears Harry kick off his boots, and then he’s draping a blanket over Niall and climbing in beside him. It must be the quilt from the couch downstairs, because it’s soft and smells a little like the Irish sausages they’d had with breakfast.

Niall lets out a little sigh and rolls onto his side. He presses his face into the back of Harry’s neck, and he can smell his cucumber hair conditioner and his spicy warm cologne.

Harry reaches back and pulls Niall’s arm over his waist. Niall knows they need to talk, but as long as he doesn’t think about it, he doesn’t have to deal with it. He closes his eyes.

He wakes up with Harry’s mouth on the side of his head, his hand on Niall’s chest. Niall disentangles himself to go take a shower. It’s early, earlier even than Rose wakes up, so Niall lets himself get relaxed under the hot water. He rolls his shoulders and tips his head back, and the tension flows out of him. Niall towels off and pulls on boxers and a pair of basketball shorts.

Harry’s sitting up in bed, checking his phone. “Good morning.”

Niall flops back down on the bed beside Harry, ignoring the way his hair is soaking the pillow. He peers over Harry’s shoulder. “Good morning. Still at number one, then?”

“Well, you know what they say,” Harry says, stretching his arms out over his head. He drapes his arm over Niall’s shoulders on the way down, and he cuddles Niall closer to him. “The cream rises to the top.”

Niall groans, pushing Harry away. Harry tries to dig his fingers into Niall’s armpits and sides, and Niall wriggles across the mattress. It’s a struggle not to laugh. Harry slings a leg over Niall’s thighs and pushes himself up, pinning Niall’s arms over his head. His eyes are feverishly bright. “Gotcha,” he says, a little breathless.

“Only because you cheated,” Niall laughs.

“Never,” Harry murmurs. He releases Niall’s wrists and slides his hands down over his arms. His palms are soft and cool against Niall’s overheated skin. He fits his fingers along the hollows between Niall’s ribs. Harry studies the way they look together, and it sends Niall’s blood rushing to the surface of his skin. The flush spreads across his chest and up his throat to his cheeks, and he shivers a little under Harry’s hands, because Harry can see all of it.

Niall has tussled with all of his own band mates and most of the instrumentalists from One Direction over the years, but it’s never felt like this. He gives a cough edged with laughter. “Come on, stop lookin’ at me like that.”

Harry digs his fingers in and it gives Niall an excuse to laugh and roll Harry off of him. Harry comes to rest beside Niall, a wrinkle on his forehead. “Would you really do it again?”

“Hm?” Niall asks. Harry tilts his head, and Niall knows what he means. “You are,” he says softly.

“Yeah, but,” Harry laughs. It sounds sad. “I dunno.”

“Haz,” Niall murmurs.

“I just always thought you were ours,” Harry admits. His voice breaks a little.

It wouldn’t be the same. There won’t ever be another One Direction. There won’t even be anything like it. But he knows that’s not what Harry needs to hear. “‘M not going anywhere,” Niall says. If it’s a promise, then it’s one he made a long time ago.

Harry’s eyes flutter shut, and he rolls and buries his face in Niall’s chest. Niall smooths his hair back. Harry grates his jaw against Niall’s chest hair, and eventually Niall twigs to the fact that it’s more than Harry just doing his best cat impression. “What are you doing?”

“Maybe it’ll rub off on me,” Harry answers hopefully. “Like good karma. Body hair karma.”

Niall snorts. It sounds a little like one of Louis’s legendary farts. “You’re going to be baby-faced forever.”

“Baby Spice,” Harry replies, sounding pleased, and Niall laughs so hard that tears leak out of the corners of his eyes.

When Rose comes bounding into the room trailing her blankie, Harry pulls her over the side of the bed and they start jumping on the mattress. Luckily, only one of them falls on Niall. Unfortunately, it’s Harry.

***

“Niall,” Louis starts, and Niall sets his curry aside next to his laptop and goes to check on Rose. She’s mumbling to herself quietly in a Harry Potter costume on the floor of her bedroom, so Niall checks that the front door is locked. He closes the curtains for good measure.

“Louis,” Niall answers tentatively, when he’s peeking out between the blinds. His street’s clear except for the neighbor with the Doberman that ate Rose’s ice cream and made her cry when their neighbor had to pull it away. “What do you want?”

Louis puffs up. “What makes you think I want something? Maybe I’m just calling to have a chat. How are you doing this fine evening?”

“Just fine, thank you,” Niall answers.

“Working?” Louis asks.

His voice is deliberately light. Niall’s bad feeling gets worse. “Mhm,” he hums.

“For Christ’s sake, Niall,” Louis finally cracks. “I don’t need your help hiding a body. Or my stash, for that matter. Can you watch Philip for a few hours tonight?”

“Oh.” Niall’s shoulders slump in relief. “Yeah, sure. What came up?”

The phone gets tossed around a bit, and Niall can imagine Louis running around his house getting dressed. “Be here in like twenty, okay? Love love, bye bye.”

A groan doesn’t cover it, but Niall still gives it a try. Niall packs Rose into the car without bothering to change her out of costume, and she brings along her princess fairy wand to show to Phil. Niall sees the wand light up when he glances into the rearview mirror, her voice a soft murmur under the radio. She’s grown out of the wee infant baby seat, and he can see her face in the light from her wand and the street lights.

She catches his eye, and he smiles. “Ni.”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Is this a wand?” She shows it to Niall. She’s been doing that recently, showing him things she knows the name of and asking him about it. She flails it about a bit and it falls to the floorboards. Niall reaches back and fishes it out for her on the next red light.

“Yup, that’s a wand.”

Rose hums thoughtfully. It’s such a Harry-like gesture that Niall almost stops and looks round for him. “Does Philip have a mommy?”

“Yeah, Briana. You know Briana, honey,” Niall reminds her. She doesn’t do as well with names as faces, so Niall puts on his best LA accent. “‘Get off the table and go wash your hands for dinner. And Philip, would you like water or apple juice?’”

Rosie cracks up in the back seat. Her cheeks flush when she laughs just like Niall’s, but it’s less visible on her. Subtler, more refined. But then, Niall’s biased. “Do I have a mommy?”

Niall’s hands almost go numb around the steering wheel. “I…” Niall’s not sure where to begin. He hasn’t prepared for this conversation yet. He made Harry talk him through every possible iteration of the “why do people keep stopping my dad on the street” conversation, but. He’s not ready for this one. “You have me, baby. And Uncle Lou and Philip, and Gramma and Grampa.” Niall feels quite proud of himself. That was good, wasn’t it?

“And Ari?” Rose checks.

Niall nods. “Yeah, him too.”

“But no mommy?” Rose reflects. Rose doesn’t play the “why” game but she does a good echo impression. Niall had gotten chills the first time he’d picked her up from Liam’s and she’d rolled out his efficient vowels.

“No, hon. Sorry.”

“Hon,” Rose repeats thoughtfully. She points out the window. “Is that a Nando’s?”

Louis answers the door with half a shirt on. It’s not an unbuttoned shirt or one of those shirt and sweater combos that aren’t meant to be worn apart, it’s literally half a shirt. The hem stops a few inches short of Louis’s belly button. Rose’s fingers trace the edge of Niall’s collar. “What happened to the rest of your top?”

There’s a sheen of sweat on Louis’s forehead and his hair’s in a tip, as is what Niall can see of his house when he steps over the stoop. He looks like he’s just been out for a run, which is enough for Niall to worry he’s been dabbling in the hard stuff. Niall puts Rose down and she goes toddling off to the game room, where Philip’s probably lounging in the ball pit. “Are you on coke?” Niall asks lowly.

“What the – why is your first thought crack cocaine?” Louis’s voice spikes up on the last two words.

“I don’t know, you’ve been weird and weaselly the past couple of weeks.”

“Weaselly?” Louis drawls. “Is that a real word?”

Niall sighs. “I don’t know. Rose and I have been reading Harry Potter before bed, we’re on The Chamber of Secrets, Ron’s all in my head. That’s not the point. Why are you freaking out and calling me over here at eight o’clock on a Friday night if you’re not about to go buy drugs?”

Louis weighs Niall up. “Okay, you can’t judge me, because I was there for your slag phase the year Phil was born, but.”

“But?”

“But I’ve got a date with Eleanor tonight?”

Niall blinks, and it’s 2014 again. Zayn doesn’t want to come to band meetings and Liam is convinced his hair looks good like that. “Okay,” Niall says slowly. “And?”

Loius’s mouth works silently. “And? And? I’ve got a date with ELEANOR, Niall.”

“For Christ’s sake, Lou, I heard you the first time. Congratulations?”

“It’s El, Nialler,” Louis deflates. He sits down at the foot of a life-size novelty Shazam figurine. “What will Briana think?”

Niall drags an end table over and perches on it. If he sits on the floor, he’s not getting up again any time soon. “Louis,” he starts slowly, “you do know that you’re not, like, together, right?”

Louis shoots him a glare. “Okay, don’t use that tone with me when you are functionally married to Harold. Also, sometimes we fuck, so I feel like it’s more complicated than you’re making it out to be.”

“Yeah, but if it’s, like, a convenience fuck…”

Louis narrows his eyes at Niall. Niall lets the sentence go. “It’s just,” Louis says, “El’s here, you know? My whole life is here, and Briana wants hers to be in LA, and.”

Something clicks in Niall’s head. “She gave you an ultimatum.”

“No,” Louis scoffs, shaking his head. “I gave myself one.”

Niall studies Louis. “But you’re still going on this date.”

“Look, I don’t need your judgment, okay? I just need you to watch my kid for a couple of hours. Can you do it or not?” Louis demands.

There’s no use arguing with Louis when he’s made his mind up about something. Louis’s always been their fearless leader, even if he sometimes led them to making “Steal My Girl” their lead single. “Yeah, fine,” Niall sighs. “But don’t wear that. Where’s the blue sweater Sophia picked out for Liam?” Liam had instantly gone out and ordered versions for Louis and Niall in their sizes. “And find a pair of trousers that don’t have any holes in them, for Christ’s sake. And no Keds.”

Louis presses a smacking kiss to the side of Niall’s head, and then he’s running up the stairs. “You’re my favorite!” Yeah, right.

Niall settles down in Louis’s game room with Phil and Rose. They’ve got an indoor treehouse shaped like a pirate ship, and Niall props his head up on his hand and listens to them hash out how Hermione Granger landed on Blackbeard’s pirate ship. It’s not half bad.

***

Liam sinks down into the studio chair with an audible sigh. Niall pulls his headphones off the one ear and lets them rest around his neck. There are shadows under his eyes, and he looks a little rounder than Niall’s used to, like maybe he’s been doing a bit of stress-eating. “You doin’ alright there, Payno?”

“Yeah, yeah, Nialler,” Liam says. He gives Niall a wan smile. “I’m aces. Let’s hear what you’ve got, shall we?”

Niall pushes his glasses up his nose and nods, his fingers slipping over the computer keys. He still squints when he has to read the computer text even though his new glasses make the text legible. He’s just not used to them yet. Stillwater’s debut album filters through the studio speakers, and Liam closes his eyes and tilts his head back against the seat.

“It’s not bad for a first release,” Niall had said when he first played it for Harry a couple of nights ago.

Harry had snorted, his image pixelating a bit as his body jerked onscreen. “Shove off, Nialler. This is great.” His eyes looked soft even over the shoddy connection to Brussels. “And you play guitar on all of these?”

And drums, and bass guitar as necessary, and a bit of tambourine on “Stranded Lovers.” Niall just hummed. Louis’s got the band on Niall’s back to tour with them, too, and with just a few months left until tour kickoff, Niall knows he needs to make a decision.

“I’m so proud of you,” Harry said. His face was so soft. Tender.

“Not to be hype man again, but, like, this is properly good, Nialler,” Liam says. “This is miles ahead of what we were hoping for.”

Niall hums. He’s proud of this album, too. It’s not his baby like One Direction albums were his babies, but it’s good, all the same. Niall wonders if this is part of growing up, being able to keep his distance.

“You know,” Liam says, when Niall unnecessarily fiddles with a couple of the mixing board sliders, “you don’t just have to tour or produce. You could make your own album, instead.”

Niall chews on the side of his thumb. He’s been setting aside odds and ends from writing Stillwater’s album, and he knows now what kind of sound he’d want for the album he never got around to finishing. But, like. That’s not where his life is right now. It’s silly and ridiculous to even think of it. He had it all once before. He can be patient. Or let it go.

Liam’s eyes are trained on the side of Niall’s face. “It’s just, I know how much you love Rose, and I love her, too. But it’s not you or her. Love’s not meant to be like that.” Liam gives Niall time to think and changes the subject. “When are you flying out to see Haz?”

“Couple of days,” Niall answers, poking the home button on his screen so that it lights up with the picture of Rose and Harry on the merry-go-round at Tramore.

Liam’s grin is devious. “Sounds like a Valentine’s Day date to me.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“I’m just saying,” Liam persists, a smile spreading over his tired face. It’s been so long since Niall’s seen him look like that that he lets Liam tease him. “He’s flying you out to see the show and stay for a romantic weekend. Sounds like a date to me,” he repeats, grinning hard.

Niall rolls his eyes. “If you want to come along, you can. Have you finally run out of ideas for Sophia? You’re just going to skip town for the day, pretend it doesn’t exist?”

“Hey,” Liam laughs, reaching over and cupping the back of Niall’s neck. He squeezes a bit, and Niall feels some of the tension leak out of his muscles. “Actually, I probably owe you one for skipping town for a few days. I’m hoping that if everything goes well watching Rose we can start talking about having one of our own. Unless she hates us, so, like,” Liam laughs, “please talk us up at home, Nialler.” Niall just shakes his head.

Harry calls the moment his flight touches down on the tarmac. “I knew you’d just gotten in, I could feel it,” he breathes when Niall picks up. “Like a soft Irish breeze blowing in the scent of cow dung and freshly mown grass. Plus I’ve been watching the Scandinavian Airlines web page for about an hour now. You are four minutes early, Mister Horan.”

“Best four minutes of your life, though,” Niall laughs, and Harry cuts up on the other end of the line.

“How soon until you’re here?” he asks.

“Calm your tits, I haven’t even picked up my bags yet.” Niall’s voice gentles. “Soon as I can, though. Promise.”

Gardermoen is as thoroughly modern-looking as Niall remembers it, and he can see flights depart and land through the vast windows behind every gate. Greta Garbo and Karen Blixen peer out at each other as Norwegian Airlines flights taxi down the runway. There was a time in his life when Niall knew about fourteen different languages’ worth of airline instructional safety videos.

The cold cuts through Niall’s coat in the few minutes between leaving the airport and finding the car Harry had sent for him. His knee aches a bit, and Niall wraps his arms around himself. The driver hops out of the car and scurries around to pop the boot and load his luggage, and he introduces himself with a handshake and a heavily accented, “Hello,” that Niall appreciates. “Hallo,” he answers. The driver looks pleased.

Rose would be pressing her pink nose up against the cold glass window and staring out in wonder. The thought makes Niall take a second look. He’s been to Oslo about half a dozen times over the years. He doesn’t remember much about it, to be honest, other than the walk from their dressing rooms in Ullevaal Stadion up to the stage.

They’re headed downtown, and the whole city seems to be covered in a thin layer of frost. The architecture shifts from modern to gothic without pause, and the rough streets jostle the car just enough for Niall to feel like he’s inside a snow globe.

Harry’s bothering craft services about their fresh fruit selection when Niall walks into the dressing room. When Harry spots him, he smiles so big it takes up almost half his face. Niall only sees it for a second before Harry’s enveloping him in a hug. He tucks Niall’s head into his shoulder and weaves his fingers through his hair, breathing deep.

They stand like that for a long, long moment, Niall’s arms tight around Harry’s waist. They’re pressed together all the way up from their knees, and Niall tries to memorize the way Harry’s belt buckle feels digging into his stomach and the warmth from Harry’s palms against his ears.

“Alright, alright,” Niall finally pulls away. “Let me put my bag down.”

Harry reminds Niall distinctly of Rose in a toy store as he shows Niall around. He introduces him to his musicians. “And this,” Harry’s saying, sweeping his arm wide out over the empty stage, “is where I will be changing the audience’s lives’ later tonight.”

“Thanks, Haz. How would I recognize a stage without you?” Niall asks. Harry chuckles and Niall swings a hand half-heartedly against Harry’s chest, and he catches it and weaves their fingers together. “Are you going to be especially embarrassing tonight because I’m here?”

“I mean, obviously,” Harry laughs.

“What do you think?” Harry’s tour manager asks. “It’s pretty different than the way your shows used to be, huh?” Niall thinks about it. He’d driven along Ring 3 from the airport to get to Rockefeller Music Hall and passed Ullevaal Stadion, and Niall had imagined the car taking that exit. Turning off, taking the back entrance into the stadium. Kicking a hacky sack around with Louis backstage and taking a nap to Zayn or Liam talking lowly to Perrie or Sophia on their phones. But the car didn’t turn off, and they kept going.

Rockefeller Music Hall is definitely not Ullevaal Stadion. The entire audience at this club wouldn’t even fill one section of stands at the stadium, but Niall can’t say he doesn’t like it. It’s been a long, long time since he could see all the way to the back, no matter what they used to tell their fans.

As usual, Harry dances his way through the concert. He waves around like one of those auto lot balloon men and wiggles his narrow hips and spews water at the crowd, who lap it up as much as the One Direction crowd ever did, if their screams are anything to go by. Harry’s sound leans more toward rock and roll than pop these days, but he’s given up those screams he had to stretch so hard for, so his new sound suits him just fine.

“Mini-Mick,” Niall mutters when Harry pirouettes in the middle of his guitarist’s solo and almost falls off the side of the stage.

“Are we all having a good night tonight? Is everyone enjoying themselves?” Harry asks, walking up and down the stage. Niall’s never sure how he manages to cover the whole space in just a handful of seconds. It used to drive Zayn crazy. “He keeps bumping into me,” he’d complained in their early rehearsals. Eventually Savan had just told Zayn to duck out of Harry’s way, which made up just about all of Zayn’s choreography.

The crowd whoops and cheers. “Good, excellent,” Harry says. “Now, this is normally the point in the night where we have a chat and I ask you to take out your glo-sticks and do ‘Almost Lovers.’ I am not going to do that tonight.”

Niall’s heart rate kicks up a few notches. He has a bad feeling about this.

“We can still have a chat, of course. I’ve had a lovely day, seen an old friend, eaten a good lunch. That’s a good day, right? Of course it is! Look at this gentleman down there, what were you expecting me to say? Is that not a good day? What is a good day?” Harry stops in front of his target, putting his hands on his hips like an expectant schoolteacher. It makes Niall groan. He wants to apologize to everyone Harry’s ever singled out.

Harry goes on for a bit, and then he strides away, adjusting the scarf in his hair. “Anyway,” he laughs, “anyway. About this old friend. You may know him, actually. The story of where we are now,” Harry drops his voice ridiculously, “would have gone in a totally different direction,” the crowd starts screaming, “if not for the Larry Mullen Jr. of this little band I used to be in, Mr. Niall Horan. Nialler, why don’t you join me on stage?”

Niall’s shaking his head when the spotlight swings around to him. He unfolds one arm from over his chest and pantomimes cutting his throat, and Harry just smiles harder. He lopes up to Niall and throws an arm over Niall’s shoulders, and then Niall is standing on stage for the first time in years. A sound tech fetches an acoustic guitar for him and another starts running mic pack wires under his shirt while Harry babbles on. Niall perches on the subway bench Harry had repurposed for his stage setup.

“What do you say, Niall?”

Niall thinks of the long list of songs they both know. He thinks of that last one they played in the basement of his house in Ireland, and how much he wished he could share it with other people. Harry leans in close so that Niall can talk in his ear, but he and Niall start talking at the same time. “‘[All Flowers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JnPvnIKCJYA) – ’”

“How about the Jeff Buckley –”

Harry pulls back with a smile, and Niall’s heart aches in his chest, he’s so happy. Harry takes an acoustic guitar from another sound tech and sits down beside Niall. He knocks their knees together, gently, because it’s Niall’s bad knee. “Here we go,” Niall murmurs.

Niall’s a little out of practice and Harry’s voice gets stuck on its lowest register until they hit the second chorus, and then it all kicks off. Niall’s looking at Harry while he sings “All flowers in time bend toward the sun / I know you think that there’s no-one for you / But here is one,” and it’s everything he can do not to laugh or cry or both.

When the stage lights swing out and flash over the audience, Niall is amazed to find tears streaking down the face of the woman his eyes land on. He looks away from her and the next fan is crying, too. And the man beside her.

He looks over to Harry, and Harry looks stunned, as well. Niall lets out a little laugh and the mic picks it up, just like it had at the end of the recording for “Drag Me Down.” They repeat the chorus one last time, and his guitar quiets slowly until Niall palms the strings. Harry smiles at him, his chest heaving, his eyes wild. “Niall Horan, everyone,” he gestures, and Niall stands up and walks off stage.

It feels less like the last time, this time around.

Harry fumbles with the key to his hotel room, his giggles just a notch too loud. They’re maybe a little bit buzzed from drinks with the crew at the John Dee pub attached to the venue. Niall plucks the card out of Harry’s hand and gets it into the door on his first try. He and Harry give a drunken cheer.

Harry’s hotel room is just as Niall remembers. Candles scattered on the desk and bedside table and en suite counter, Harry’s used towels piled over the armchair in the corner, his clothes exploding out of his suitcase like florid silk lava. Niall has his own room, but he hadn’t wanted to take the time to stop by first to leave his stuff. He dumps his bag on the floor beside the door.

“It feels like ages since I’ve last seen you,” Harry whines when Niall won’t let him take his picture. “I want an up-to-date contact photo.”

“You’re going to put one of those god-awful black and white filters over it and post it to Instagram with some dumb caption,” Niall laughs, pushing the camera away. “You can save it.”

Harry pouts a bit. He follows Niall around the room like he can’t bear to be more than a meter away from him at all times. Niall picks up one of Harry’s candles, and it’s apple cinnamon-scented instead of vanilla. He’s got a bottle of Calvin Klein cologne on the nightstand instead of Tom Ford, and a new necklace dangles from the knob on the desk drawer. “The caption was going to be, ‘I’m always feeling at home,’” Harry sniffs. “But thanks for your vote of confidence.”

It makes Niall stop his careful perusal of Harry’s room. “Haz.” He’s not sure what else to say. Harry just smiles self-consciously. Niall reaches out and pulls him in, and Harry goes easily. Niall doesn’t really know what he’s doing, but he puts his hand on the back of Harry’s neck and brings their foreheads together.

“I think I’ve fallen in love with you,” Harry admits shakily.

“You think?” Niall repeats.

“It didn’t really feel like falling,” answers Harry, and it’s so simple and straightforward that Niall laughs.

He frowns. “I hope you’re not laughing at me,” Harry says.

“Usually am,” Niall replies, and kisses Harry on the mouth. Light, easy, like something they’ve done a hundred times before. He kisses Harry again and lingers a bit, giving himself time to adjust. Harry’s mouth is sweet and soft, and he follows Niall when Niall tries to pull away.

Harry licks his lips. “Did you brush your teeth at the pub?”

Niall flushes. “They were serving chips and hummus, yeah, of course I brushed.”

Harry laughs and pushes Niall down onto the bed, and then he climbs on top of him. “Did you use the travel size toothpaste, too? And the little toothbrush with the cap on the end?” He muffles his laughter in Niall’s shoulder, and Niall huffs. He wiggles a bit under Harry, and Harry flattens out, pressing Niall into the mattress. “Hey,” he says. His smile is so wide, and his eyes are all crinkled up.

Niall pokes him hard in the dimple. “What?”

Harry doesn’t say anything else. Instead, he leans down and pulls Niall’s bottom lip into his mouth. He bites down gently. When he goes in for another kiss, Niall slips his tongue into his mouth, and Harry sucks on Niall’s tongue. It’s slow and deep, and Niall loses track of time trading kisses back and forth like secrets, like they’re sixteen again and figuring out how to work together.

“So, like. I really want to shag you, but you’re also kind of disgusting right now,” Niall tells Harry. He can smell the sweet rotten scent of Harry after a concert, sweaty and slightly rank like a cologne bottle left in the sun for a few days, beneath the raspberry margarita on Harry’s breath. Harry’s hair is sweaty at the roots, and his clothes are sticking to him.

Harry’s eyes light up. “You know, I’ve always wanted someone to shampoo my hair while I go down on them.”

“That’s the sexual fantasy you want to check off your list right now?” Niall asks, almost disbelieving. He’d quite like to wash Harry’s hair, to be honest. If it happens during sex, does that make it a sex thing?

Harry rolls off the bed and stumbles to his feet, his head already tangled up in his shirt and necklaces. “You don’t want to?”

“I didn’t say that,” Niall mutters, and catches up in time to help Harry shimmy out of his skinny jeans. Harry reaches over and cranks the hot water on. He reels Niall in by his belt loops, and Niall lets out a little sigh against Harry’s mouth.

Even though Harry’s the one with the fantasy about his hair getting washed, it’s Niall he pushes under the spray first. He lathers up Niall’s hair and threads his fingers through it, massaging Niall’s skull with his fingertips until Niall goes boneless from it. “Love you,” Niall sighs. “Like this.” Niall presses his thumbs into the V of Harry’s hips, under his laurels, and Harry twitches toward him. “Even when you’re annoying the hell out of me. Maybe especially then. All the time, really.”

Harry’s eyes go all crinkly and his dimples deepen, and he drops to his knees. Harry presses his forehead against the top of Niall’s thigh and runs his hands up the back of Niall’s legs, and it’s enough to make him lean against the wall for support. Niall tilts his head back against the tile wall and tries not to come the second he feels the heat of Harry’s mouth around him. The shampoo runs into Harry’s eyes a bit, and he almost slips and pulls Niall over when he climbs back to his feet, and Niall just kisses him harder.

They stumble back to bed in a heap of damp towels, and Harry cradles Niall’s cheek while Niall pulls him off, discovering a flick of his wrist that has Harry moaning so loud Niall’s sure the neighbors three doors down must’ve been able to hear it. Niall kisses him quiet, and then they keep kissing as Harry comes down, until it’s slow and lazy again, deep, like there’s something left to get to know about each other.

“You’re the best kisser,” Harry mumbles into Niall’s mouth.

It sounds like gibberish. “Huh?”

“You know, from that interview with the bloke with the hair,” Harry answers, like Niall will actually remember one of thousands of interviews they did over the years. As a matter of fact, he remembers a few offhand. That first one after Zayn had gone. The one with the sweet Austrian girl.

Niall opens his mouth to say something, he hasn’t decided what, when his stomach rumbles. Harry snorts and rolls off of Niall to grab the room service menu, and Niall sits up in bed and rings it in. He’s suddenly starving, so he orders enough food to feed a small army and Harry, who will inevitably wind up eating off Niall’s plate. Harry stops digging in his suitcase for a pair of pants with a bemused look on his face.

“What’s that about?” Niall asks, hanging up the phone.

“I’ve just realized, it’s almost Valentine’s Day and I haven’t gotten you anything. Should we get each other something?”

Niall scratches his head. “What would you get me?”

“I dunno. What do you want?”

“Nothing,” Niall shrugs.

Harry repeats, “Nothing?”

“Nah. I’m pretty happy right now.”

Harry’s smile grows slowly. “Me, too.”

***

Niall cradles his phone against his shoulder and bends down to pick up one of Rose’s discarded pairs of tiny cotton trousers. He tosses it into the laundry hamper tucked under his arm.

“Niall, are you even listening?” Louis huffs over the phone.

“My house is in a tip,” Niall answers. He shuts the laundry hamper into his utility room and closes the door without even starting the washer. He hasn’t got the time. He goes over to his desk and tries to straighten up the music sheets and lyric notes on the work surface. “A tip,” Niall repeats, with emphasis.

Louis’s eye roll is just about audible over the phone. “Great, Nialler. I’ll alert the presses. Should I tell them you’re joining Stillwater’s tour, too?”

“Sure thing. Oh, wait, are you talking about things now?” Niall asks. Niall’s babysat for him three times just over the past month, so he thinks it must be going well.

The last time, Louis sat down when he got home and he and Niall watched the end of a classic rugby match. Rose snored loudly on Niall’s lap. “Thanks again for watching Phil,” Louis said. He glanced at Niall sideways. His tone went delicate. “I can, like, return the favor for you, if you want sometime.”

“What are you on about?” Niall laughed.

“Just haven’t see you go out very much lately,” Louis said. “I don’t want you to be lonely, Nialler.”

As awkward and preposterous as it was, Niall was touched. He held up his hand for a fistbump. “No worries, Lou. I’m not lonely. I promise.”

Louis scoffs. “Phil, buddy, come pick up your Legos so we can go to work. Where was I? Oh, yeah, fuck off. Sorry, Phil, don’t tell your mum I said that.”

“Lou,” Niall prompts him impatiently.

“You don’t need to know the det – wait a second, did you just – Niall, did you say yes just now?”

Niall heaves the trash into the bin. “Yeah,” he smiles.

“GET IN!” Louis roars. “My lad! Sorry Phil, not you laddie.”

“Yeah,” Niall laughs. “So go on. I’ve got to go.”

“You were always my favorite!” Louis’s shouting as Niall hangs up.

Niall’s just finishing up wiping down the counters when he hears someone knock on the door. He opens the door without looking at the security screen and Harry attacks him mouth-first. They step back into the house and Niall lets Harry finish kissing all over his face before he latches onto his mouth.

“Rose’s gone down for a nap about half an hour ago,” Niall tells Harry, who presses a soft kiss to the hollow beneath Niall’s collarbone before he starts sucking. “so we maybe have almost an hour.”

“Gotcha,” Harry says. His hands slide down to grope Niall’s arse and then he’s hauling Niall up off his feet.

Niall wraps his legs around Harry’s waist, mostly as a self-preservation instinct. “Jesus,” he laughs.

Harry looks a little disappointed that Niall’s not swooning. He bites Niall’s chin. “What?”

“Nothing, just, fucking porn star,” Niall snorts.

Harry’s eyes go bright and hard. “Do you think so?”

They manage to make it to Niall’s bedroom without any major accidents, although Harry did almost drop Niall when he tripped over Rose’s Leap Frog learning pad. Niall traces the numbers on Harry’s neck with his tongue while Harry’s hands slip under his shirt. He thumbs over Niall’s nipples and Niall can’t help the strangled sound he lets out, or the way his body arches up against Harry.

Niall’s eyes slip shut. “Jesus Christ,” he gets out. He pulls Harry onto the bed with him. He goes for Harry’s belt buckle and Harry intercepts his hands, winding their fingers together. Niall’s eyes flutter open, and he frowns.

Harry crawls down Niall’s body, bending down to lick over Niall’s nipple. When he’s done, he blows a stream of cool air over it, and Niall lets out another moan.

“I didn’t think you’d be loud,” Harry says. He’s going for conversational but Niall hears the hitch in his breath, the way it’s gone low and husky. “I wonder how loud you’ll be when I fuck you.”

“Christ,” he repeats. He grabs Harry’s hips and pulls him down against himself, grinding their hips together. Harry thrusts down against him for a moment before he seems to remember himself, and he goes back to skating his hands lightly down Niall’s chest and stomach, his fingertips sliding just under the edge of Niall’s underwear. “You’ve thought about it?”

Harry pants, “You haven’t?” He unbuckles Niall’s trousers and slides them off his legs. He wraps his hand around Niall’s calf and draws his leg up. Then Harry presses a line of soft kisses over the vivid scar on Niall’s knee. His mouth keeps moving up Niall’s leg. When Harry stops to suck a bruise onto Niall’s thigh, Niall thrusts his hips up a bit hopefully, and Harry draws back and scrapes his thin stubble against Niall’s knee. Shivers climb up his spine. He’s almost painfully hard.

“Not that I don’t appreciate being seduced,” Niall manages to get out, “but I would really like to get off before the baby wakes up.” Harry just hums, the ghost of a smile on his face, and Niall finally catches on. “You!” He splutters. “You’re just teasing me? Seriously?”

“Well, you were making fun of me!”

Harry laughs, and Niall leans up and rolls over him, pinning Harry to the mattress. Harry’s hips jolt up once, quickly, before Harry quells it, and Niall lets out a strangled sound. His bum knee slides a little on the soft sheets and Niall leans back to take some of the pressure off, and Harry whimpers. His fingers dig into Niall’s thighs. Niall straightens up and then leans back again, more slowly, and Harry looks up with the most wounded, pleading expression on his face, like How could you do this to me? It’s not Niall’s fault that he’s practically sitting on Harry’s dick and Harry still won’t do anything.

It makes Niall snort, and he plants his hands on either side of Harry’s face and looms over him. It’s not something he does often, bear all his weight on his hands and knees like this, and he’s definitely going to need some paracetamol and an ice pack later, but it’s worth it for the look on Harry’s face.

Harry huffs and slides his hands up Niall’s bare back like he can’t help himself, and then he, the dirty stinking cheater, gets a hand on himself. Niall watches Harry’s face go flushed and dreamy, biting down on his lip to keep himself quiet. “You wouldn’t – come on, you can’t.” He can’t make himself look away. Harry just raises an eyebrow, but he wraps his hands around Niall’s hips, and Niall has a moment to think finally before he slides his hand down over Niall’s arse and pulls Niall’s good knee closer to himself and ruts up against Niall’s thigh. Relief spreads over his face like honey.

Niall thinks he might die. “Alright, fine! I’m sorry, okay? But if you get me off right now I’ll let you fuck me tonight.”

Harry’s eyes light up. “Okay,” he agrees, and finally sticks his hand down Niall’s pants.

“I missed you,” Harry’s saying when they’ve cleaned up and put on a fresh pair of pants. He closes that last inch of distance between them on the bed, pressing his face into Niall’s arm. “In case I forgot to tell you earlier.”

“When you were busy torturing me,” Niall mutters. His eyes are so heavy, and he’s so relaxed, lying here in his bed beside Harry. He wraps his arm around Harry’s shoulders and pulls him in even closer. “Missed you too,” he says quietly. They breathe together for a bit, and Niall always forgets how good it is to have the time to share silence. “Told Louis I’d do the tour,” Niall says off-handedly.

Harry picks his head up off Niall’s chest. “Really?”

“Yeah. So, like, I don’t know how that’s going to work, –” Niall bites his lip.

“Stop,” Harry says. His eyes are so soft and green. There are more laughter lines by his eyes than ever before, and the worry lines in his forehead are starting to settle into proper wrinkles. He’s still Niall’s best friend. “Be happy.”

“I am,” Niall says, and he means it. “It’s just, your tour moves to Asia next month so it’s not like you can come back every few days anymore. I start rehearsals next week, and, just. It’ll be ages.”

“That’s the way it’s always been,” Harry says. “Why is this bothering you so much now?”

Niall bites the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t know himself except that he went to the store today and restocked on soy milk and quinoa and frozen yogurt and it didn’t occur to him until he was standing at the checkout watching it get scanned that it could all very well go bad before it gets eaten.

“I know, just. You fly out first thing tomorrow and we’ve got the drop party tonight, so it’s like. If we don’t talk about it now, we won’t have the chance till, like, October.”

Harry sighs deeply, stretching his mouth over Niall’s shoulder like he’s going to eat him alive. “There’s nothing to worry about,” Harry says. He tries to relax, to believe Harry. It’s never quite that simple.

They faff about in bed for a bit going through Niall’s camera roll. Harry’s already seen all of these, but it’s nice to go through them together, like Harry was there. “She’s so big now,” Harry says, staring so hard at a picture of Rose from Christmas at Greg’s house that Niall’s a little worried he’s going to try to Blue skidoo himself right into it. She’s wrapped in a garland and she’s got a Christmas cracker crown on her head.

The next picture is of Rose in her running gear. Liam had brought her the sneakers, although Niall knows they’re really a gift from Zayn. “It’s her newest obsession,” Niall tells Harry. “Liam picks her up every few days and they go on a jog through the park. Well, he jogs, mostly in place. She’s got quite a nice rock collection going. Liam has her convinced she’s going to be a track star someday.”

“Of course she is,” Harry declares. “She’s going to go to the Olympics.”

“You’re delusional,” says Niall. “Sweet, but delusional.”

Rose is preceded by her tattered elephant blaring “[Everywhere](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FsglRLoUdtc)” and her little feet pounding the floorboards before she flings the door open and launches herself onto the bed. Harry dives for her. “Ari!” she shrieks.

“My favorite girl,” Harry answers. He squeezes her tight for a moment, and then he lets go to fling her up in the air. Niall’s heart stops for a second, but he makes himself lay still and watch them play.

Rosie throws her arms out for a rescue. “Ni! Help!”

“I don’t think so!” Harry laughs. He scoops her up and bolts away, and Niall chases after.

“Congratulations again on the release,” another representative from Sony says, and Niall smiles and nods and thanks them in return. It’s the same old spiel he’s been going through all night, making nice with the bigwigs and the not-so-bigwigs even though it’s not his album, technically.

Although maybe technically it is, if Niall’s touring with the band now. Niall’s not sure.

He recognizes the look of wonder on the Stillwater lads’ faces, though. He tries to see this party as they must be seeing it. Louis and Liam have rented out a defunct bowling alley-cum-club. Niall can see guests bowling under blacklights, their white shirts and white teeth very bright in the dimness. The little old Ore-Ida french fry and corndog concession stand has been totally redone to serve the caterers’ food. Stillwater’s album blares over the speakers. Niall can’t help smiling. Yeah, he remembers this. Their first release. The possibility of it all. It feels amazing.

The bassist slings a drunken arm over Niall’s shoulders and yells in his ear, and then he’s knocking back a shot of Fireball in each hand. He puts a hand on the bassist’s shoulder and yells in her ear over their album that he’s got a kid to watch, he can’t get too off his head. The bassist just laughs, and she looks so young and precious in that moment.

“You’ve been off your head the whole time I’ve known you!” she snorts.

“Finally, someone who agrees with me,” Harry cuts in. He’s got Rose in his arms and Niall can’t stop himself staring when he sees her. Sometimes, he looks at her and it’s like she’s a completely new person from one day to the other. Her face is sharper and her eyes are wiser, and he’s always so fiercely proud of her. “I’ve been saying that for years.”

To her credit, the bassist only looks a little star-struck before she shrugs and goes back to the drinking contest the rest of the band has started up. Niall presses his forehead against Rose’s and she rubs the tip of her tiny nose against the bridge of Niall’s, her laugh braying and familiar.

“Are you goin’ full Vegas Niall?” Rose asks.

Harry cracks up, and Niall pulls her into his arms so Harry can double over. “Where did you hear that?” he demands, though he’s got a pretty good idea.

“Uncle Louis,” Rose answers. “I don’ think you’re mad. Sorry.”

Niall can’t help but snort out a laugh. “That’s alright, buddy. Are you having fun?”

Harry cuts in, “Lux and Brooklyn weren’t playing very nice, so I was about to take her for a little walkabout. Want to join?”

“Wish I could, I’ve got to hang around and kiss arse for a couple more hours. This used to be fun, right?”

Harry shrugs. “We used to be a lot drunker. And you’re not trying to pull anyone but me,” he adds, wiggling his eyebrows.

Niall flushes. “Shut it with that. Off with you. Let me work. Love you,” he kisses Rose’s forehead again and thinks about giving a kiss to Harry, too, but it feels too risky here, surrounded by their friends. He taps Harry’s forehead once, instead, and sends them off.

He’s shaking hands with Steve Lilywhite when he hears a loud clatter and, a long, long second later, a tremulous wail. Niall would know that cry anywhere. He’s not even sure he says goodbye to Steve before he’s darting across the venue as fast as his legs will allow. He finds Rose sat on her bottom, the front of the little dress she’d been so proud of plastered in white icing. Brooklyn and Philip are standing nearby, panicked expressions on their faces. Rose’s cries cut off for a moment while she swallows, and then she stretches her little arms out and wails, “Daddy!”

Somehow, Niall thinks he would’ve known without even seeing that it’s not him she’s reaching out to. It’s Harry, who’s already reaching for her even as he finds Niall’s eyes in the crowd Rose’s summoned. He looks shocked and he looks overwhelmed and he looks overjoyed. Something in Niall’s stomach swoops uncomfortably and doesn’t get up again. He knows that Liam and Louis and anyone else there, really, have seen this, and he doesn’t know how to explain it. He doesn’t know how to explain that his daughter’s only confused when Harry’s just his ex-bandmate, has only ever been his close friend. He feels his face grow very hot.

Harry bundles Rose up, mindless of the icing transferring from her clothes to his, and she shushes almost immediately, her nose pressed to Harry’s “1957” tattoo. It takes Niall aback, because he didn’t know that was a familiar image, but now that he thinks about it, he can recall a dozen times offhand that Harry’s comforted his baby. That Harry just being there has comforted her. “I’m gonna go get her cleaned up,” Harry tells him, and Niall nods dumbly.

“You seem like you’re angry with me,” Harry observes softly in the car on the way home. Niall’s rubbing his thumbs hard against the steering wheel, feeling the leather rough up against his skin a bit.

“I’m not angry,” Niall says. He realizes it’s the first time he’s spoken since the valet pulled their car around. He makes himself relax against the seatback a bit, and his spine slumps gratefully. “I’m not angry,” he repeats.

Harry pushes his hair back from his face and chews his bottom lip. “I didn’t mean for her to get confused, I swear. I was trying to teach her to call you dad, to surprise you, and, like. I’m sorry.”

“Harry.” Niall eases the car to a stop at a red light, mindful of Rose dozing in the backseat, her dress replaced by Harry’s designer shirt. “I’m not mad at you.” Niall can see Harry’s chest under his blazer and it’s like Harry’s got the story of their lives written on his skin. He wonders why Harry hasn’t gotten one for Rose when even Taylor has one in the little love flag Harry had covered up with the swallows. Now that he’s thinking of it, maybe it’s worse to be covered up than never to have existed at all.

“I love you,” Harry says. The worry in his voice is palpable. It reminds Niall of Harry tentatively reaching out to Louis when the fans were really starting to go after them. Wanting to make it better, and only being able to make it worse.

Niall reaches over and takes his hand. “I love you, too,” he says.

That was never the question, Niall thinks.

***

Harry’s there for Rose’s third birthday, and Paul’s first barbecue of the spring, and the first time Rose shit in the pot he took a picture and said, “Now THIS one goes on a mug!” He wasn’t there for Geoff’s prognosis, or Philip’s first football game, or the tantrums Rose threw when she realized he’s not just stepped out to the shops for a loaf of bread and a packet of Jammie Dodgers. He’s not there for a lot of things, as it turns out.

***

Niall runs into Taylor in a bookstore. He and Rose have taken the tube to Piccadilly Circus to find something he can tell Harry he wants for his birthday. Rose’s got her hand in his, and the other wrapped around an ice cream cone that’s slowly melting down her fingers. The only reason she’s not freezing is because she’s swaddled in his coat.

Niall likes reading biographies of other musicians, and he’s browsing that section when he hears someone clear her throat and a half-awkward girlish laugh. Niall still gets recognized, of course. He’s just a lot better at not drawing attention to himself than Harry or Zayn ever was. So he’s expecting a fan when he turns, Jimmy Page’s biography in his hands.

Instead, he finds world-famous popstar Taylor Swift. She’s got her phone in her hand like she was about to take a picture of her own book of fans’ stories on the shelves, and it’s so classically, agelessly Taylor that Niall pulls her into a hug. It’s a bit stiff, all that Ed drama never really going away, and the fact that Harry’s his mate on top of that, but it could be worse.

Taylor kneels to speak to Rose. Niall appreciates that, grown-ups getting on his kid’s level. “Hi,” Taylor says, smiling hard at Rose. “I’m Taylor. I’m a friend of your dad’s.”

Rose slowly feeds a couple of fingers into her mouth. “You’ve very white teeth,” she finally says around them, and looks to Niall for approval.

Niall laughs self-deprecatingly. “Sorry, we’re working on, like, that. She, er, means she likes your smile. Right, Rosie?” Rose nods slowly, her eyes still glued to Taylor.

“She’s sweet,” Taylor says, and her smile seems genuine, anyway. “What are you two doing here?”

Rose tugs on Niall’s hand, pressing her forehead against the back of his leg. Niall tightens his grip on her hand, even though she’s seized him with the one that has melted ice cream all over it so their fingers squelch together. “Just looking around,” Niall answers.

“Practicing being normal?” Taylor guesses. It’s spot-on.

“Yeah,” Niall shrugs. “You?”

Taylor holds up her phone. “You know. Doing my thing,” she laughs. “Hey, like. I know this is kind of awkward, and we haven’t talked in forever, but. I may never get the chance again? So I just wanted to say, you know, thank you.”

“Thank you?” Niall repeats.

“Yeah, for talking to Harry,” Taylor says. She glances down at Rose again like she can’t help it, and suddenly Niall wants to step right in front of her, hide her. “We’ve actually been talking again and I can tell he’s finally coming around to my point of view, and. It’s just, kids, you know? He’s always wanted kids, and when I said I wasn’t ready he took it so personal. So I just wanted to say thanks, even though this conversation has become way more awkward than I thought it would be, and I kind of wish it wouldn’t have happened at all.”

Niall laughs when she does, even though he’s thinking, Yeah, I wish so, too. He wants to be in denial, but part of him knows this is what he’s been waiting for. The other shoe to drop.

As starter families go, one could do worse, Niall supposes. Like Liam having Rose over for a weekend before he and Sophia decide whether they’re ready for a kid of their own. A little test, that’s all, though that’s not how Harry would think of it. He’d just see it as an experience and move on from it. It’s happened sooner than Niall expected, if he’d thought about it at all.

Harry texts Niall when his flight gets in, so Niall’s on the couch watching his leg jiggle, unable to stop it, when Harry knocks. Niall makes himself go to the door.

“Hi,” Harry says, immediately pulling Niall into a hug. Niall lets himself close his eyes and breathe Calvin Klein and Harry’s particular musk and the essential oils he dabs behind his ears because he’s convinced it’ll stop his hairline from receding. Harry releases him only when most of the feeling’s gone out of Niall’s arms. He goes to kiss Niall and Niall turns his head so that Harry’s lips slide off the corner of his mouth. “How are you?”

When Harry tries to push past Niall and walk into his house like he has dozens of times before, Niall stops him. “Listen, I…I think it’d be best if you stayed somewhere else.”

“What? Are you fumigating? Redecorating? You didn’t tell me you were planning to redecorate.”

“I’m not. I just, like.” He looks at Harry and he can see Harry catch on to Niall’s tone of voice or maybe something on his face, because Harry starts to look worried. “I think we’ve been being really selfish? You’re away on tour all the time and it’s not your fault, I’m not blaming you, but. Rose cries when you go away, and –” And she called you dad, Niall wants to say, but he’s looking at Harry while he’s thinking it, and he can’t say it.

“Niall.” Harry budges up against Niall, but Niall doesn’t give way. “Niall,” Harry repeats, and Niall hates himself for the desperation in Harry’s voice. He hates that Harry’s going to cry about this later, and it’s Niall’s fault. He hates that he’s breaking both of their hearts. “It’s not like I’ll be on tour forever, alright? It’s only, like, one more month.”

“And then the next album, and the next tour? I just don’t think, like. I gave all that up, but you don’t have to. I don’t want to ask you to do that.”

“You don’t have to ask,” Harry says immediately. “I’ll do it, I don’t think I could write without you and Rose in the other room, anyway. Christ, Niall, just let me in.”

Niall takes a deep breath. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” Harry demands. His voice has gone all tight, and his eyes are wet when Niall dares to meet them. Niall remembers how inconvenient and painful it is to be known so well. “We were fine, and now you’re breaking up with me? What happened?”

“I talked to Taylor.” Niall winces the moment the words come out, because he knows how it sounds. “I mean, I ran into her –”

Harry’s face hardens. “And she said something to you? What did she say?”

“She said – honestly, it’s not important what she said. Just, like, trust me, okay? I mean.” Niall rubs his face with both hands. “Rose can’t think that you’re going to come home when you’re not. It’s breaking her heart.”

“One more month,” Harry pleads. “I know it’s been terrible but just give me one more month, and then I’ll come home, and I’ll stay, I promise.”

“I don’t want you to make that promise,” Niall says. His voice is so soft, like he’s trying not to hurt Harry any more than he already has. He knows it’s stupid and pointless. “You’re not the one who had a kid dropped on them, alright? I am. And I’m okay, so you don’t have to hang around to take care of us anymore. You can go back to your life.”

“I don’t want to go back to my life,” Harry says. Niall looks away when the first tear skates down his smooth cheek. “I want this life. With you.”

Niall swallows hard. “I know you think you do. But are you totally sure it’s this family you want?”

“Niall…” Harry says helplessly.

Niall closes his eyes. “Please, Harry.” When he opens his eyes, Harry’s gone. Niall goes back to Rose’s room and squeezes himself into her toddler bed beside her, her hair curling in his nose. She smells like baby oil and grass and a bit like Niall’s own cologne, and he presses his face to the top of her head and tries not to think about anything at all.

***

Niall stares at the waveforms on Liam’s computer monitor. It reminds him of the grooves on records, and how sound is a real, physical thing, and he watches the waveform rise and fall like a real tide, and. He’s too tired to really think of anything.

“Knock, knock,” Louis walks in. “Niall, buddy, what are you doing here?”

He shrugs. “Liam took Rose to get an ice cream.”

Louis sits down slowly across the desk from Niall. Even though Niall’s sitting on the business side he still feels like Louis’s calling the shots. “No, I meant, at the label. The album’s out, the tour’s scheduled. All you’ve got to focus on now are the rehearsals.” He studies Niall. “How are those going?”

“Good, yeah. Good.” Once the old guitarist had been fired, the rest of the band had been free to properly jam, and now they’re really hitting their stride. It makes Niall proud but he doesn’t quite feel like a part of it. He’s been through all this before, there and back again, and it’s different the second time around. He knows how it ends.

“I’ll be honest, you don’t look well, Nialler,” Louis says. “Did something happen with Harry?”

“What? What do you mean?”

Louis raises a single eyebrow. “I mean your odd couple routine, you’re almost as unbearable to watch as Liam and Sophia. Feel like I need a box of tissues to watch that Disney film.”

Niall snorts. Louis’s phone rings, and Louis digs it out of pocket to answer it. He’s watching Louis’s face when Louis picks up the phone, so he watches as the blood drains out of Louis’s face. Louis stands up almost without meaning to, and Niall follows, his stomach turning over hard.

“Oh, God. Yeah. I’ve got it. No, don’t drive. Don’t get in the car, okay? I’ll come get you, I’ll be right there.” He hits the red button and looks up at Niall slowly, and Niall’s head is too full of horrible possibilities for him to be able to ask. “It’s Liam’s dad,” Louis says. “They’ve taken him to hospital. He’s had a stroke.”

Niall can’t get the thought of Liam getting that phone call out of his head. He can imagine Liam’s cheery hello, and the gentle smile on his face. He can imagine the way that would all change, and how alone he’d feel in an ice cream parlor with Niall’s toddler to look after.

Then Niall thinks of Rose. It’s almost like a race between Niall and Louis who can get there first, Louis’s “Don’t get in the car” ringing in Niall’s ears. Louis’s car is closer and Niall leans forward against his seatbelt the whole ride, his fingers clenched around the seat. Louis parks haphazardly in the street and Niall’s bolting out of the car.

He stops just a few steps later. Liam’s sitting on the bench in front of the ice cream parlor, his head in his hands as he cries. Niall looks through the parlor window, and up and down the street. He doesn’t see any tiny people with curly brown hair. Louis sits down beside him and wraps his arm around him, and normally Niall would be all over him, but right now he has a bigger problem.

“Where’s Rose?” he demands. Louis ignores him as he rubs Liam’s back, talking into his ear. “Where’s Rose?” Niall repeats, less friendly this time. He almost doesn’t recognize the force in his tone, it comes out so strong.

“Listen, can you piss off for a mo’?” Louis demands.

Niall’s temper flares up. “Can you shut up for once in your life?”

Louis jumps to his feet. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I don’t want to hear it anymore, Louis! Piss off, when it’s inconvenient to you! Listen to my problems, when it’s convenient for me, Christ, what’s even the point? Date Eleanor, don’t date Eleanor. Break up your family, don’t. I don’t care. Where’s my fucking kid?”

The ice cream parlor door jingles open, and a young woman in a candy striper uniform walks out. She’s leading Rose by the hand. Niall’s got her in his arms before he can think, her sobs muffled against his chest. “She was just crying on her own, so I called the police, they’re on their way. I, uh. Recognize you. You’re her dad, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, thank you,” Niall says. He closes his eyes and presses his face into Rose’s hair. He’s never been truly mad at Liam before, but he is now. He turns to Louis. “I’ll sort this out. Just take him home, alright?”

“Fuck you,” Louis says, but he does get Liam up and into his car.

Rose cries inconsolably. He can imagine her turning from her ice cream, her little face a right mess, and not finding Liam there. Thinking he’d gone and left her behind, like a piece of luggage left on the carousel. “Ari,” she hiccups into Niall’s shoulder. “Want Ari.”

“I know,” Niall says. “I know, baby.” So do I, he thinks.

***

Sophia is the one who calls to tell him about the funeral. “I don’t know what happened between you boys, but you will be there, and you will remember that you love him, whether or no. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Niall mutters. His head’s still ringing with the news of Geoff’s death. Jesus, Geoff’s death. Jesus, Liam. He must be spinning. “Soph –”

“Just be there, okay?” Sophia says, her voice softening. The line clicks off.

Niall plans to go alone until Rose catches him packing his bag. “Where are you going?” she asks, putting her hands on her hips.

He sits down slowly on the bed. “C’mere, baby.” She clambers into his lap, and she’s so big now that the top of her head bumps his chin. “I’m going to a funeral. Do you know what a funeral is?”

“It’s for when things are gone,” Rose says.

“Right. And this time, it’s Liam’s dad who’s gone.”

Rose twists in his lap to see his face. “Liam’s daddy?” She can’t pronounce “Liam” right so it comes out sounding like “Leem.” “Is Liam’s heart sad?”

“Yeah, honey. I think so.”

“I want to come,” Rose says at once, sliding off Niall’s lap to grab her ladybug-shaped backpack. She tosses it onto the bag and starts piling her stuffies inside.

Niall pushed a hand through his hair. “Rosie, why don’t you stay? It’s going to be sad.”

“It’s sad,” Rose repeats, pushing her backpack into Niall’s hands for him to zip up. She looks up at him, and for the first time, it really registers how blue her eyes are. How much she looks like him. He can see it in her jaw and the shape of her nose, and the way her mouth is a firm line like Maura’s. Niall realizes that she’s not echoing him, that that’s her answer.

He lets her come.

They touch down in London and take a private car to Wolverhampton. Niall strokes Rose’s hair in his lap and remembers his first trip there what feels like ages ago, when the band wasn’t even really a band yet. When it was just a bunch of scared boys who wanted to make music. He remembers Geoff’s rolling laugh and the abashed look on Liam’s face, and Niall remembers thinking of how perfect Liam’s family seemed. How jealous he was.

Niall checks them into the hotel and they spend the night watching the Die Hard series on cable TV so it’s edited to have all the curse words taken out. Niall rests his head on his arms and turns to the side, and he’s almost surprised that it’s not Liam there on his left, Louis on his right, aged eighteen.

“I don’t understand why he’s got an accent,” Liam would be saying, and “It’s because he’s fucking Austrian, what is there to understand?” Louis would snap. “Why’s he got to be Austrian?” Liam would say, and Niall would cut in, “‘M pretty sure he’s German, lads.” The memory is so real and so strong that Niall closes his eyes, and when he opens them, it’s to Rose watching with open-mouthed awe as Bruce Willis army-crawls through a ventilation shaft.

The next morning finds Niall in a black suit, helping Rose into a black dress. Her shoes are white, and he’s not sure if that’s a faux pas or not, but they’re the only ones he packed.

Liam’s cousins are the ushers, and Niall realizes with a start that they’ve grown up since he’s last seen them. Karen’s just inside the door, and she practically falls into Niall’s arms. Niall remembers her crying at just about every scene of This is Us, and he holds her tight. Ruth hugs him next. Her dress is sheer over her shoulders and Niall can see the five-note star on her arm. Her tribute to One Direction. Niall tries to find a seat in the crowded chapel. His eyes scan the attendees, and Niall spots Zayn, looking handsome as ever in a tailored suit, all but his most obvious tattoos covered up. Niall brings Rose over to sit next to him.

“Niall,” Zayn says in surprise. “Niall. Hi.”

“Hey,” Niall smiles. “Zaynie. This is Rose, she’s my daughter. Rosie, this is Zayn. We used to be in a band together.”

Rose studies Zayn intently. “You have a lot of tattoos,” she says, and Niall can’t help but laugh. “Sorry,” he tells Zayn. “We’re working on that.”

“No,” Zayn smiles his teeth-behind-his-tongue smile. “I like it. She’s not wrong.”

The service starts, and Liam and Louis file in with Liam’s family, and Niall catches Louis’s eye and gives a little nod of his head. He doesn’t nod back, and Zayn sees, because he elbows Niall in the gut and mutters, “Someone’s in the doghouse, I see.”

“This is a funeral,” Niall hisses, but his heart feels lighter. If anyone understands, it’s Zayn. Niall tries to subtly scan the rest of the churchgoers while the priest reads the Lord’s Prayer, and he spots Harry near the back, his face drawn. Taylor is sat next to him, her hat black, her lipstick bright. When she spots Niall she smiles softly, and Niall looks away.

It’s a standard service, really. Fast, faster than Niall remembers from his grandmother’s funeral when he was a kid. Zayn rides with Niall and Rose to the graveyard, and they troop up past the gravestones to the place of rest. Niall sees Liam toss in a watch, in addition to his handful of dirt. He can’t be sure, but it looks an awful lot like the one Liam brought to the X-Factor house, the one his dad got him for winning his school talent show. From a distance, Niall can imagine it’s still ticking.

They hold the wake in Liam’s house, and it’s kind of bizarre, because it’s the first time Niall’s been to Liam’s house. Niall waits until he’s one of the last to give his condolences to Liam’s family. Sophia smiles when she sees him, and Liam pulls him into one of his bear hugs. One of those hugs that made everything feel safe.

“I’m so sorry,” Liam says, his voice muffled in Niall’s neck. It sounds, and feels, wet. “I’m so sorry, Nialler, I just got that call and I walked out and I didn’t think and anything could’ve happened, and I’m just. I’m so sorry.”

Niall holds Liam by his shoulders so he can look into his eyes. “Liam. No hard feelings. Right, Rosie?” Rosie smiles at him and holds her arms out for a hug, and Liam bends down and scoops her up. Then Zayn’s crowding against Niall’s back to push him into a group hug, and it’s. They’re done now, but they’re not done with each other.

As if it’s 2013 again, Zayn and Niall and Louis and Harry sit in the backyard around Louis’s sad excuse for a bonfire, Zayn’s stock of matches expended on little more than a tiny flame. Louis has a churlish look on his face but he’s out here, like Sophia told him to be.

The side of himself closest to Harry itches like it’s magnetics for him to get closer, or maybe to get further away. He’s been avoiding Harry all day, even though he wants Harry’s hand in his like Rose wants her dummy when she doesn’t feel well.

Eventually, Liam manages to sneak out, too. “My lads!” he says. “All together again. Look at us.”

Music filters back from the house and Niall recognizes the Boss, “[No Surrender](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MD3DdskaPhs).” “Nice playlist,” he says, and Liam flushes a little. His eyes get wet.

“Yeah, it’s. I was never going to make a speech, you know? Let the music do the talking. Kind of like a party. What he’d want.”

Harry throws out one long limb and it’s his leg, and Liam latches on and crosses their ankles together.

“Missed you boys,” Liam says, and Louis and Zayn nod along, even though Niall catches Louis flipping Zayn off behind his hand where Liam can’t see. Louis can’t see, either, but Zayn’s doing the same to him. Niall rolls his eyes.

“I’m moving to LA,” Louis says, almost randomly.

Niall picks his head up off the back of his garden chair. “I’m not going on tour with Stillwater.”

“Why not?” Liam asks. Louis looks like he already knows Niall’s response.

“They’re not my band,” Niall answers.

***

Louis’s house is full of boxes. He’s got a decent organizational system going, and every box is marked with the room he wants it to end up in. Most of the boxes have already been taped shut, ready to go, but Louis’s upstairs in his office when Niall finds him. He’s got his share of their awards, and he’s just sitting on his haunches looking at them when Niall knocks softly on the door.

They all own those awards differently. Harry’s got his in a closet in his house in LA. Niall found them once when he was over recording that last album, the line of awards impressive and imposing, staring down at Niall from the top shelf. Liam has his on display everywhere he lives. He’s got a couple BBMAs at his mum’s house, and a few Kid’s Choice Awards on his desk at work, and an ARIA in his bathroom at home. But Niall’s never seen Louis’s share before.

“Are you ever going to show those?” Niall asks, leaning against the doorjamb.

“Nah,” Louis answers, looking up after a moment with a sharp-toothed smile. “If I ever start to wonder if it really happened, I’ll just call me old geography teacher.”

Niall snorts out a laugh. “So. LA?”

Louis shrugs. “Turns out I’m still not my old man.” He looks fiercely proud of himself, and Niall remembers why it was, exactly, Louis was their fearless leader. Even if he did push for “Steal My Girl” as their lead single.

“Love’s not meant to be like that,” Niall says anyway, because Louis deserves to hear it.

Louis shrugs again like he’s not bothered, but his shoulders have gone tense and his face is tight. “Yeah. Sometimes it is, though.”

Niall nods. He knows. “Anyway. I just wanted to bring Rose by to say goodbye to Philip.” If he listens intently, he can hear them laughing in the game room. Maybe they’re building another pillow fort, or a block tower. Maybe they’re trying to play Wii bowling again.

“Well, you’re already here,” Louis says, getting to his feet. He wipes his hands on his jeans. “Might as well stay for dinner. A curry?”

Niall smiles. “Yeah.”

Louis claps his hand on Niall’s back on his way past him. “Good,” he grins.

“Next time me ‘n Phil are gonna build a pillow fort in the living room,” Rose says without taking her eyes off the window. She has both hands wrapped around her seat belt, and her mouth is stained blue from the lollipop Louis gave her after dinner.

“Next time might not be for a while,” Niall says, watching her face in the rearview mirror. He hopes she won’t throw a fit. He’d understand if she did. “They’re moving to America.”

Rose thinks about this. “Next next week?” she asks.

“More like Christmas,” Niall says softly.

Rose’s feet jostle against the car seat. “We’ll miss them?” The way she phrases it reminds Niall of her showing him just about every item he put in the cart with her at the grocery store. “Is this peas?” “Is this a box of pasghetti?” “Is this a pear?” It’d taken Niall ages to figure out she was prompting him to tell her more.

“Yeah,” Niall admits. “It’s cos we love them.”

“I want to go home,” Rose says softly. She doesn’t sound sleepy. She might not even take a nap today.

Niall flicks the blinker on, turns right. “We are going home, baby.”

“Real home,” Rose clarifies. “Where Theo is.”

And, well. It’s not like Niall has any better ideas. They stay with with Greg and Denise since his house is draped in white sheets. Denise is happy to have them, if her enthusiastic welcome at the airport is any indication. Theo leans over in his little booster seat and tweaks Rose’s nose, his face all lit up and warm and so, so similar to Bobby’s. “God, he’s gigantic now,” Niall tells Denise, holding out his hand to Theo for a high-five. “He might be the first Horan to escape the chicken legs curse. What do you say, Theo? Are you going to become a pro footballer and make us all famous?”

Theo ignores Niall in favor of showing Rose his Minecraft world, so Niall leans back into the passenger seat and watches Denise. There are shadows under her eyes, and her hair’s thrown up in a messy bun. God, Niall’s missed her. “How are you?” he asks.

“Good, love, thank you for asking. How are you?”

“Good,” Niall says. He looks sideways at Denise and catches her looking back, and they both laugh. “How are you really?”

Denise stays mum until they get the kids occupied in the ball pit at McDonald’s. Niall’s just been in there with them, not least because he’s worried about heroin needles, or whatever people say is in those things, and makes a mental note to sign Rose up for some toddler’s gymnastic classes. She would love those foam ball pits.

“I don’t want this to be awkward for you,” she says, leaning on her elbows with her chin cupped in one hand, “because my husband is your brother. So if you’d rather I didn’t say – ”

Niall cuts her off. “And you’re my sister. You can tell me whatever you want. Just, I don’t want to hear about Greg in bed. That’s one thing, ugh, I don’t need to know.”

“I think he’s cheating on me,” Denise admits in a rush, like she’s not been able to admit it before. “Jesus.” She takes a sip of her coke, unfolds her hands on the table and looks at them. Her wedding ring is a bit loose on her ring finger, and her nails are unmanicured. Niall’s always liked her hands. Real life hands. Real work hands. “Maybe I’m wrong.”

He nods slowly. Rose lets out a war whoop from the ball pit and dive-tackles Theo, whose head immediately disappears under a wave of plastic balls. Their laughter echoes loudly. “How long?” he asks.

“A while,” Denise shrugs. “A long while,” she adds, her voice lower.

“If you ever need anything…” Niall starts.

Denise shakes her head firmly. “No, no, baby. I won’t take from you. God, I can’t believe I’ve told you this.” She bites her lip. “Please don’t say anything to him. I just needed to tell someone.”

“I broke up with Harry,” Niall says, “I was dating him, and then I broke up with him.”

“You do that,” Denise says slowly, her eyes very wise and very familiar.

“Do what?”

Denise adjusts the collar of her blouse and smooths her hair back. She sighs and settles into the uncomfortable plastic McDonald’s chair, Rose and Theo discussing the rules of playing cops and robbers a soft murmur. “You never give anyone a chance. Actually, I take that back. You never give yourself a chance.”

“What are you talking about?”

She starts ticking off her fingers. “Amy, Melly, Barbara, Laura – don’t tell me there couldn’t have been something there – and now Harry. You broke up with Barbara because you didn’t want her to have to deal with your knee, and you broke things off with Melly because you didn’t want her involved with the end of the band, and Jessica – ”

“We don’t need to go there,” Niall cuts her off lowly.

“You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it,” Denise persists. “She’s the mother of your child.”

And that’s the truth he hasn’t wanted to think about. Years ago, that summer, he’d thought maybe there could have been something between them. They’d talked a little about having a relationship after Jessica went back to London to complete her post-doc work, and she’d been someone Niall could imagine being with. In a real way, a LiamandSophia kind of way. And then, kind of impulsively, Niall had called it off.

Actually, he remembers that day pretty clearly. He’d come to pick her up for dinner and she’d invited him up to her flat for a cuppa before the show. She let him see her dissertation on Gaelic and he’d listened to her talk about her plans for her research. And when she called the next day, he didn’t pick up.

“I’m just saying,” Denise adds softly. “I’m not the only one who loves you.”

Niall corners Greg in the bathroom at Bressie’s. Half the formerly-LIC is there, and Niall had deliberately forced Greg’s hand in coming out. He’d had Rose ask Denise for a princess movie marathon just to drive him out of the house.

“But why?” Rose asked.

“Because I want you to,” Niall had said. Sometimes that worked. Sometimes she didn’t question him.

“But I don’t wanna be a princess,” Rose said. “I’m a knight. See? I have a sword,” and she’d swung Greg’s old cricket bat above her head and knocked out the toaster. “Okay,” Rose said. “I’ll ask Aunt Denise.” For his part, Theo loves princess movies.

Niall leans his hip against the counter and watches Greg wash his hands. “So, like. Can I ask you for some advice?”

Greg’s eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”

“Yeah. So, say, like, I’ve got this great thing going, right? This great relationship. And, I dunno, maybe it’s not working anymore. Maybe the sex gets stale or I just get bored. Do you know who I might call about that?”

Greg’s mouth twists around. “A psychologist, maybe?”

“Guess again.”

“What exactly are you accusing me of?” Greg asks, squaring up to Niall.

Niall straightens up. “You tell me.”

“God, you’re such a fucking – I’m not cheating on my wife, for fuck’s sake,” says Greg. “I’ve gotten a second job at the canning factory because we’ve been talking about having another kid, okay? Christ, Niall. Do you feel better now?”

Niall’s face gets very hot. “Greg, I –”

“No, don’t bother,” Greg says. “You know, I know you blame me for us not getting along. But you could at least give me the benefit of the doubt.”

Niall’s mouth works wordlessly, he’s got no idea what to say, and Greg just pushes past him and grabs the handle of the door. “I was excited you’d asked me out tonight, you know,” he admits quietly. “I don’t know how to be around you, but I thought, like. I dunno.”

“I do,” Niall gets out fast. “I do. Want to be friends. I just, like. Don’t know how to be around you, either.”

Greg looks at Niall. “Well, you can start by buying me a pint,” he sighs, and Niall smiles.

Niall and Rose move back into their house right before the holidays. He’s hosting this year, and with most of his cousins coming, he’s going to have a full house. Deo comes up from Down Under and takes up residency in one of Niall’s spare rooms. He’s “reacquainting himself with the motherland” or “watching a lot of daytime television and eating all of Niall’s good snacks,” and it’s great having him around.

They go to Bressie’s pub on unsigned band night and it’s exciting again like it hasn’t been for ages, the possibility of falling in love with another band. There’s a lone guitarist on stage covering “Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright” when Niall is drunk enough that calling Harry seems like a good idea.

He picks up after two rings, and Niall hiccups in surprise. He didn’t think Harry would ever take his calls again. “Niall? What’s wrong?”

“Remind me about this guitar part,” he rattles off the notes before he can forget, “and I really miss you.”

“Niall,” Harry breathes.

“A lot,” Niall emphasizes.

There’s the quiet muffled sound of Harry taking the phone away from his ear, fabric rustling as he moves, quietness falling as he must step outside. Niall mirrors him from halfway across the world, so that he’s standing in the pub’s beer garden, staring up at the stars. He wonders what time it is where Harry’s at, whether he can see the stars, too. If it’s even the same set of stars. He feels that far away.

Harry takes a deep breath. “How drunk are you right now?”

“Mm. Very. Not too bad. Quite a bit, but not a lot. Like, a medium-ish amount. Maybe a little more.”

“Niall,” Harry repeats. He sounds so sad.

Niall hurries to say, “I didn’t mean to call. I mean, I did. I didn’t plan it. It’s just, they were playing that Dylan song, and your mum has that album on vinyl, and I remember them playing it at her wedding. D’you remember that?”

“No,” Harry says. “Tell me about it.”

“I dunno. Just remember her in her white dress, and the way Robin looked at her. And I was dancing with one of your little cousins, and the music, and it was all so. I’d want it like that.” Niall hiccups again.

Harry’s breathing turns a little ragged.

“Anyway,” Niall says. He laughs a little brokenly. “How’re things with you and Taylor?”

“Me and Taylor?” Harry repeats, sounding confused.

Niall pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Sorry, I don’t guess you’d want to, like, talk about that with me. Sorry. Sorry I called, Jesus, I don’t even know what I was thinking.”

“It’s okay,” Harry says softly. Comfortingly. It makes Niall’s heart ache. “I’ll see you at Louis’s Christmas party, yeah?”

Niall sniffs, his nose running in the sudden temperature change from Bressie’s warm pub to the cold Irish winter. He’s wearing the same hat he wore when he went to pick up Rose for the first time. Somehow he’s a little surprised it still fits. “Yup. See you then,” Niall says.

When he wakes up in the morning with a splitting headache and a mouth that tastes only slightly better than roadkill, it’s to a text from Harry. He’s sent what looks like a bunch of gibberish until Niall realizes it’s the musical notation he knew he’d forget, and he rubs his thumb over his phone screen, humming it to himself.

Denise recommends Theo’s daycare to Niall, so he takes Rose there to scope it out. “It’ll be good practice for when she goes to school,” Denise said, “unless you plan on homeschooling her, Mr. ‘I Didn’t Even Make it to the GCSEs.’”

“We can just wait for school,” Niall had pointed out, Rose balanced on his knees while she worked on a puzzle at the kitchen table. She used to have so much trouble trying to smash the wooden pieces into the puzzle to make them fit. Niall or sometimes Theo would patiently rearrange the pieces in her hand so that they were at least angled the right way, and now she’s working on a proper grown-up puzzle. It made his head spin.

“You can’t teach her everything she needs to know,” Denise pointed out.

“It’s going to be okay,” Rose comforts Niall in the car.

Niall turns in his seat to look at her. They’re in the parking lot of the daycare, and he’s having some serious second thoughts about doing this. She’s still so small. “Okay, but if you don’t like it you don’t have to stay. And if you want me to pick you up early, just tell the teacher to call. Do you have your lunch?”

Rose nods.

“Okay. Alright.” He busies himself getting her out of her car seat and walking her up to the door.

“It’s gonna be fine, Daddy,” Rose says again, her eyes crinkling up when she smiles at him. “See ya later.”

“I’ll miss you,” he tells her.

Rose throws her arms around him. “Miss you too,” she whispers in his ear.

Niall sits in his car in the parking lot for a while. In case Rose wants to go, he tells himself. He just can’t bring himself to leave yet. He thinks of the number his lawyer sent him a few weeks ago, after his conversation with Denise, and Niall’s digging his phone out of his pocket and dialing the number before he has a chance to lose his nerve.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Jessica. It’s Niall.”

She’s silent for a moment. “Niall,” she repeats, sounding shocked. “I didn’t think I’d hear from you.”

“I know you didn’t want to. I won’t call again. Just, our kid’s at her first day of preschool right now.” Niall laughs uncomfortably. “I don’t know why the fuck I called, to be honest.”

“It’s okay,” she says slowly. “I mean, it’s not, but. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. I guess I just wondered. Why’d you leave her?”

“I published my dissertation,” Jessica says. “I’m joining the Peace Corp., we leave for a refugee camp in Namibia in a month.” Niall wonders why she’s telling him this. “I’m not a bad person, I think. I’m just not cut out to be a mum. I’m not her mum, really. You should call someone who gets why first day of daycare is a big deal.”

Niall laughs. It sounds a bit wet to his own ears, and he swallows. “Alright, then. Well. Bye, Jess.”

“Bye, Niall,” she answers. Niall’s phone returns to the home screen, and he puts it back in his pocket, starts the car, and goes home. It’s quiet without Rose in the other room dragging Ellie the singing elephant around with her, humming under her breath or talking to her stuffed animals. Niall wanders around the house for a bit until he realizes he’s looking for her, and then he goes down to the studio.

The amps and effects pedals he’d used on the Stillwater album are still in London. All he’s got left are his guitars and most of a drum kit. Niall picks up a guitar at random and sits down on the stool in the middle of the recording booth. He strums it slowly.

Holding a guitar is such a strange feeling. He could be sitting in the middle of the stage, Liam and Louis and Harry and Zayn on either side of him, singing “Little Things” for the thousandth time, Harry catching his eye on his solo, or he could be sitting backstage at the X-Factor, wondering whether or not he’s going to get through. It’s all the same, really. Him and the music. No matter what, he’s always had that.

Niall sets his phone on the music sheet stand in front of him. He’s got pages and pages of notes and about two dozen voice memos of lyrics and melodies. Just stuck on his phone like a bit of rubbish into a book, a birthday card used as a bookmark, that check he needs to cash wedged between the pages so that he doesn’t lose it. Saved for later.

He starts playing.

***

“Happy Christmas!” Briana greets Niall with a kiss on the cheek.

“Happy Christmas to you,” he answers, tightening his grip on Rose’s hand. Even though Louis’s hosting his party in LA this year, Niall’s surprised by how many faces from the label he recognizes. He wonders if Louis flew them out, and then he knows he did.

Briana closes the door behind them, even though it’s hardly cold in LA. Niall’s not even brought a coat, it’s so much warmer than Ireland. The house is totally bedecked in fairy lights and tinsel, and it’s kitschy and cheesy and very Christmassy, and very Louis. “Drinks are in the kitchen, the DJ’s taking requests, and most of the kids are in the basement.”

Rose tugs on Niall’s hand, so the basement’s their first stop. She spots Philip from a mile off, half-hidden behind the life-size Iron Man replica. Niall stays long enough to watch Lux hand her a water gun, and then he excuses himself to go back upstairs. He’ll deal with that mess later.

Niall finds Liam out back by the pool, and the moment he sees Niall, he stops in the middle of whatever he was saying and heaves him up into a hug. “Nialler!”

Niall laughs, a little bit wary. He knows what Liam’s like when he’s a bit tipsy. He’ll tell the most embarrassing stories about you to anyone who will listen. Liam finds the stories endearing. Niall finds a good reason to excuse himself.

It doesn’t seem like Liam’s reached that point yet. “How are you, how is everything?”

“Good, good,” Niall answers. “Rose’s started daycare, think Bressie and I found you another act.”

“And music?” Liam pushes. “Have you started playing again?”

Niall lifts one shoulder. “I mean, here and there.”

“Here and there!” Liam whoops. He presses a drink into Niall’s hand and holds his own cup up for a toast. “To here and there!” The people surrounding them obediently take a drink, and Niall pretends to take a gulp. Liam beams at him.

“I have to say, I miss having you around in London.”

“You mean you miss your running partner,” Niall says knowledgeably.

Liam laughs again. “Yeah. Think, though. Like, think maybe I’ll have my own soon enough to join the team.”

Niall raises his eyebrows. He can’t help the smile that spreads over his face, the way his heart picks up excitedly. “Seriously, Payno?”

Liam smiles shyly. “Not for lack of trying, anyway.”

“To trying!” Niall raises his cup, and this time he does take a real drink, Liam’s smile on his face the best thing he’s ever seen. Niall’s just leaning in to press a sloppy kiss to Liam’s forehead when Sophia approaches.

“Oy!” she laughs. “I know you want to share, but this one’s mine, Horan.”

“Fair enough,” he laughs, and kisses her forehead instead before he ducks out to grab himself another drink.

Niall’s ladling out another spoonful of punch that’s mostly sangria when he hears his name called. Niall would know that voice anywhere. Harry’s got his hands behind his back like he’s nervous. His hair is longer than Niall remembers, and he’s wearing skinny jeans and a button-up shirt that actually fits. Niall’s mouth goes dry.

“Hey,” he says. After a second, he leans in to give Harry a hug. Harry hesitates for a moment, like maybe he doesn’t want Niall’s arms around him, and then he steps into Niall’s embrace so that their cheeks are pressed together. Niall flashes back to that show in Kansas City, it must’ve been on tour for FOUR, and the way Harry had held onto Niall even though they were both soaked in sweat.

“You look great,” Harry says, and Niall blushes, looking away. “How’s everything? How’s Rose?”

“Great,” Niall answers. “Yeah, she’s learned the alphabet song in, like, a day, and she won’t stop singing it now.” He laughs a little nervously, watching Harry’s face for signs of boredom. Even when Maura asks about Rose, she doesn’t care about every little detail like Niall does. Like Harry did. Does Harry still? He just looks hungry for more, nodding encouragingly, so Niall gives in to the desire to tell Harry about Rose’s plans for next year’s Halloween costume (Twilight Sparkle), her new favorite book (“The Dinosaur That Pooped the Past!”) and her determination to do her own hair, which is why it look a bit like something’s living in it.

“She’s started daycare, too,” Niall tells him, and Harry’s eyes go wide.

“Really?” Niall nods. “I can’t believe it. She’s growing up so fast,” Harry murmurs.

Niall just hums, and the conversation gives way to silence. It’s not awkward, necessarily, but Niall can count on one hand the number of times he hasn’t known what to say to Harry. When Harry broke up with Taylor way back when. When the media first got their claws in him, and none of them had expected it.

“Well,” Harry says eventually, and Niall frowns without meaning to, because it sounds like Harry’s ready to move along. Niall wonders if Taylor’s around here somewhere, and he wonders whether he can successfully avoid her in a party this size. Maybe he’ll go back downstairs and hide out in the basement with the kids. Or break into Louis’s stash. “It would’ve been nice to see that.”

More than nice, Niall thinks. “Yeah. Next time you’re in town, you know. Just come on over.”

Harry smiles without showing his teeth, like he thinks it’s an empty offer. Maybe it is. He studies Niall, his own eyes light green and almost translucent, like he’s utterly transparent. To Niall, maybe, sometimes. Sometimes he thinks he hardly knows Harry at all. “Can I talk to you alone? Please?”

It takes Niall several tries to swallow. “Yeah. Yeah, sure.” He leads the way upstairs. Louis’s office is the first room at the top of the stairs, and Niall pushes the door open and walks in. He leans against Louis’s desk, tapping his fingers nervously against the work surface.

Harry closes the door, his back to Niall, and then he turns, and Niall knows that look on his face. He’s standing up and meeting Harry halfway before he knows it, their mouths sliding off each other sloppily until Niall pulls back and reorients himself, turning Harry’s face to meet his.

“Mm,” Harry hums into the kiss. “You taste like Christmas,” and it’s so Harry that Niall can’t help but laugh.

“It’s Louis’s spiked eggnog,” he answers. He looks at his hand on Harry’s shoulder. His shirt’s deep green, and it makes Niall’s skin look especially ruddy. He lets out a sigh and brings Harry closer, so his forehead rests against Niall’s. Harry tilts his head closer and runs his tongue over Niall’s bottom lip, licking the rest of the taste off him.

Harry thumbs the spot behind Niall’s ear that always makes him go melty and sleepy. “It’s like a farewell shag,” he suggests. “Like, the relationship’s not over until the last fuck.”

Niall snorts. “Jesus Christ.” He squeezes Harry’s hips and pulls him in closer, and Harry rolls his hips against Niall’s. It’s so unfair and good that Niall groans. He starts sucking a bruise onto Harry’s throat, higher than his collar, where anyone can see. Harry just tilts his head to give him better access, and Niall slides his palm down Harry’s chest. He can feel his heart going fast.

Niall stumbles backwards to the couch Louis’s got in his office, and he sits down heavily. Harry spreads his knees on either side of Niall’s hips, his weight a real and heavy pressure on Niall’s thighs. Harry rolls his hips again, and Niall thrusts up to meet him. They groan at the same time. Niall fumbles with the buttons on Harry’s shirt so that he can run his calloused hands over Harry’s abs and down his back.

Harry shivers and presses closer, trying to get his stomach and chest flush against Niall’s. “Jesus. What the fuck, have you been playing guitar nonstop for the past two months?”

“Basically,” Niall admits, sucking on Harry’s jaw.

“Are you working on another album?” asks Harry.

Niall’s face feels warm, and he knows that Harry’s seen it by the way his fingertips trace it from the center of his chest up to his cheek. “Maybe.” It comes out a whisper, like Niall’s afraid to talk about it too loud. He wonders what Harry’s going to say. Maybe he’ll call Niall a hypocrite.

Harry looks so, so pleased. “That’s great, Niall.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry laughs, cupping Niall’s cheek in his big hand. He drives his hips down again, harder this time, and Niall accidentally bites Harry’s lip. “D’you think we can get off just from this?” Harry wonders.

“Just from rutting against each other like horny teenagers?” Niall reiterates, timing his hips so that he and Harry are moving at the same time. He slips his hand down between them to give Harry a squeeze. He’s farther gone than Niall expected. “Bet I can last longer than you,” he challenges him.

Harry snorts. His hands grip the back of the couch behind Niall’s head, and he pushes himself up on his knees a bit so that he can grind down harder. Niall thinks about Harry riding him on the couch in his London house, and then he grits his teeth, because he’s sure as hell not going to win at that rate.

Harry breathes heavily into Niall’s neck, the whole world reduced to Harry’s labored breathing and all the places on Niall’s body where they’re touching. Niall grabs Harry’s hips and pulls him down hard, and Harry tenses, tucking his face into Niall’s throat as he comes. He bites down on Niall’s collarbone so hard that he breaks the skin, and it’s that that has Niall coming, too, Harry’s immediate “Sorry, sorry,” and his tongue lapping up the blood.

“I can’t believe you won,” Harry mutters into Niall’s neck. Niall laughs. Harry dips his head down to kiss Niall again and he pulls away for a second, wincing. “Beard burn,” he snorts. It makes Niall choke out a laugh. He’d kept his face shaven the whole time they were together, but he’s stopped shaving every day. Rose likes to run her tiny fingers over the stubble on his jaw, and it makes her laugh when he kisses her cheek. Harry runs his lips over the bristles, deliberately this time, like an extended kiss. Niall’s eyes flutters shut.

“Oh, fuck. What the hell?” Louis’s standing in the now-open doorway, his face twisted up in distaste. He strides away from the door long enough for Niall to look helplessly at Harry, and then Louis’s back, making a gagging sound when he sees them together. “I had resigned myself to finding Liam and Zayn like this someday. I decided to be okay with it, because Liam’s my boy. You two, though. Ugh. Jesus. Get out of my office. And if I find any suspicious stains anywhere, so help me…”

Niall leans up to mutter into Harry’s ear, “Probably left those himself,” and Louis tosses a paper plate at Niall’s head. It hits Harry instead, and Niall snorts.

“Happy Christmas!” Louis shouts, and shuts the door behind him.

“We better…” Harry starts.

Niall nods. “Before he really starts talking, yeah.”

“Okay.”

“Alright.”

Harry looks like he wants to say something, but then they hear footsteps outside the door, and they’re up and out before Harry has the chance. They don’t so much as wave goodbye at the foot of the stairs, and then Niall’s ducking into the loo to bin his dirtied pants before he tracks down Rose to take her home. A string of incomprehensible texts starts pouring in from Louis, so Niall blocks his number. He gets them on the first flight out of LA for good measure.

***

Rose comes down the stairs on all fours, her little face pink from the effort. Niall watches her mouth move, and then he realizes he’s still got his headphones on. He slides them off and lets them rest around his neck. “What was that, baby?”

“What are you doing?”

Niall looks down at the bass guitar in his hands. “I’m writing a song. D’you – here, love, come see.”

Rose straightens up and wipes her hands on her tiny blue jeans. She’s ever so slightly bow-legged, so there’s a little swagger to her walk. It makes Niall smile every time he notices it. She ducks under the guitar and budges up against his lap so that Niall bends over and pulls her up to sit on his good knee. The guitar slides down his bad knee a bit, and Niall holds it low, so that Rose can see over the top of it.

He strums his fingers over the strings, and the sound comes out rich and deep. It’s just an electric amplifier, no fancy mods or effects, but it still makes Niall’s spine relax. “Do you want to try?”

Rose passes her hand over the strings once, and her hand is too hard; the sound comes out muffled. “Softer,” Niall murmurs, taking her hand in his and demonstrating. He lets go, and Rose tries again. “Much better,” he smiles.

“I like this,” Rose decides, settling back against Niall’s chest. Her hands slide off the guitar, so Niall plucks his way through his latest song, one note at a time. Writing a song is a little like driving at night, he thinks. He can’t see but a few feet past the headlights but as long as he keeps going, the road keeps unraveling. The song keeps coming.

“Yeah? Do you want me to teach you to play?”

Rose sticks her fingers through the gaps in Niall’s shirt between the buttons to tickle his belly, and he chokes on a laugh. Rose smiles brilliantly. “No,” she answers.

Sometimes Niall just has to find the right question, and Rose can answer it. Sometimes, she still has no idea what the hell he’s on about. He figures it’s a toss-up here. “Then why do you like it?”

“Your heart is happy,” she answers, shrugging. She slithers down from his lap and goes to crab-walk back up the stairs, murmuring to herself again. “Can we get a dog?”

Niall’s plane touches down in London, and he unbuckles his seatbelt and stands up. He’s only got the bag in the overhead bin, so he slings it over his shoulder and makes his way off the plane, out of the airport. Niall wonders idly how many years of his life he’s spent in the air and in airports.

Liam’s sitting at the table with that focused look on his face that Niall’s always thought looks just a bit constipated, his brow wrinkled, his lips pursed. When he spots Niall, that all falls away. He smiles wide. “Nialler!” He rises to his feet and sucks Niall into a tight hug. “You look great.”

Niall sits down opposite him and picks up the menu, even though he decided to get a steak in the car from the airport. He’s proper starving. “You too, Payno.” They catch up, but Niall feels Liam’s eyes on him even when their server’s delivering the chips and salsa and Niall’s not talking. He heaves a sigh. “Obviously Tommo’s talked to you.”

Liam folds his hands together and leans over the table, his face intent. “Yes, he did. And I just want to say, I love you, I’m totally behind you whatever you do – ”

“Oh, for the love of – don’t bother yourself, Liam, I know.” Niall fidgets with a bit of hair above his ear. “Louis, uh.”

“Well, let’s just say you made the right call not meeting me at the office,” Liam laughs. “What’ve you asked me out here for, anyway?”

Niall takes a deep breath. “Maybe the world’s biggest favor? I’ve, uh. Got an album. And I lost my record deal a couple of years ago.”

Liam’s smile starts out slow and grows until it covers his entire face. Niall wants to scoff and palm his face, secretly pleased, Liam looks so happy. “Nialler.”

“It’s not really a stadium album, and no one’s produced it yet, and it probably won’t make any profit at all,” Niall warns him.

Liam shakes his head. “It’s not a favor I’d be doing you, Niall. How d’you not know that you’re properly good?” Niall shovels a huge bite of food into his mouth instead of answering. “The thing is,” Liam says, “I can’t sign you myself. Louis and I do that together.”

Niall swallows hard, and it hurts going down. “He’s going to want to know, like, everything.”

“So you’ve been shagging Harry,” Liam says, trying to make it sound normal. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“I love you, Leemo,” Niall says. “But that’s the biggest load of nonsense I’ve ever heard.”

Liam waves this away. “Go home, finish the album, I’ll see if I can round up a producer to come polish it. We’ll drop it whenever you’re ready, no promo. No tour?”

Niall bites his lip. “I don’t know?”

“And in the meantime, I’ll work on Louis. But, uh. You’re going to have to think of something.”

Niall slumps in his chair. “I know,” he groans.

Liam sends round Brian Eno, who pulls up a rolling chair to the mixing board in Niall’s studio. He smells faintly of tobacco and airplane and coffee, and he listens to Niall’s album on full volume. The speakers shake in their housings, and Niall digs out a package of ear plugs he had gotten for a music festival ages ago.

Nervous doesn’t quite cover it. Niall chews apart his fingernails watching a goddamn music legend listen to his album. No one’s heard it but Niall. Maybe it’s shit. Maybe it’s not even shit, because shit can be improved. Maybe it’s totally unusable.

“Well,” Brian sits back in his chair. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

“It’s shit,” Niall groans, slumping over in his seat. He rubs his face with his hands. “Fuck.”

Brian laughs. “No, I mean. This is an acoustic album, you don’t need me to produce. It’s done, laddy. Put it out.”

Niall peers between his fingers. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, son. Now, tell me you’ve got lunch. Your kid invited me to a tea party, and I don’t want to miss that.”

James Bay invites Niall to a show, so of course Niall goes. He doesn’t expect James to bring out Taylor Swift as his surprise guest, and he doesn’t expect to be caught by James’s security before he can sneak out of the venue. He can’t think of a reason to get the hell out before he has to go backstage and talk to Taylor without hurting James’s feelings, so he lets the security steer him around.

Croke Park is still the maddest venue Niall’s ever been to, and that’s including the O2 Arena. It’s a bit weird, because Niall knew at the time that it would be one of the best shows of his life, and that’s held true. He remembers the rain, and the Irish flag Harry draped over his shoulders like a cape, and the screams from the audience when his “Little Things” solo came up. He remembers Harry’s speech, and how suddenly Harry’s secretive scribbling in his journal in the days leading up to the show made sense.

“I can’t believe you prepared a speech for me,” Niall had laughed after the concert, his hair drying from the post-show shower unevenly where he was laying on the tour bus. Harry turned to look at him from the opposite couch.

“It was good, right?” Harry smiled, rubbing his chest with his hand. He’d had a cold, and Niall guessed the feeling was lingering in his chest.

Niall nodded, closing his eyes. “Yeah, it was great. A dream come true.”

Harry made a thoughtful humming sound. Niall opened his eyes and turned his head to look at him. “It was true, right? The dream came true. You made it happen.”

“Nah,” Niall had smiled. “We made it happen.”

Harry flung his arm out, and Niall reached out to fist bump him. It took them a long few seconds to find each other’s knuckles, and as soon as Niall’s hand was within his reach, Harry caught Niall’s fingers with his fingertips. He smiled, and Niall smiled back.

“Niall!” James shouts. He’s quick to throw his arms around Niall, quick to be a good friend. It makes Niall happy, and he hugs back warmly. “Did you enjoy the show?”

“Yeah, mate, it was great.”

“But your favorite part was still ‘[Get Out While You Can](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A7_En-wcrfY),’ right?”

Niall laughed. “It’s Springsteen-y, mate. Nothing better.”

Taylor sees him and waves him other, and Niall thinks about not going. God, but Maura raised him better than that. He goes. She greets him with a hug, and he suffers her red lips on his cheek. He wonders if it’s left a mark.

“I should’ve expected to see you here!” she laughs. “You’re always at the best shows.”

“Obviously it’s the best show because you’re here,” Niall says in his best impression of Liam’s genuine charm. It probably doesn’t work if you don’t mean it. The next words come out of his mouth without his permission. “Where’s Harry?”

Taylor raises one manicured eyebrow. “Harry?”

“Yeah, you know. Almost six foot, almost a Grammy winner, almost half as cool as he thinks he is.”

“I think he’s in Majorca on vacation, but that’s just what the paparazzi have been telling me. I thought you’d know?”

It’s Niall’s turn to be surprised. “Me?”

“Yeah, because, like.” She looks at him, and her face is like an open book. Niall flushes immediately. “Sorry, I thought – I didn’t realize Harry didn’t tell you. Did you think –?”

Yeah, Niall thought. “You aren’t…?”

“Not since last year. Almost two years ago now, actually. Wow. But, wait.” Taylor draws Niall aside so they can talk without risk of being overheard. “You thought we were?”

“Yeah, I.” Niall licks his dry lips. “He said, and I thought. I thought.”

“I think maybe you thought wrong,” Taylor tells him, not unkindly.

***

Niall’s upstairs putting clean sheets on the guest room bed – Deo’s just left for Australia again, his phone full of British phone numbers Niall knows he plans to brag to his mates about. Niall wonders how long it’ll be until he realizes his mates won’t be impressed at all by a hook-up thousands of miles away.

His knee’s bothering him today, so it’s with a bit of a limp that Niall approaches the door. “Coming! Coming, Christ, calm your – ” The door opens, and Niall finds himself looking at Harry, whose face is stormy. “Tits,” he finishes dumbly.

“You thought I was seeing Taylor?” Harry demands. He pushes past Niall into the house, and Niall lets him. Watches Harry stuff his gloves into his coat pocket and take his scarf and coat off and hang them on the rack by the door. “You honest to God thought I wanted to get back together with Taylor after I’d been with you?”

“She…you…” Niall stammers.

“She dumped me because I wanted to have kids and she wasn’t ready, and I ran to you. Okay? It sounds pathetic, and it’s not what I wanted you to think of when you thought of me, so I didn’t tell you.” Harry holds his palms up. “And so what if I fell in love with you because you were there? I’ve always loved you,” Harry says, like it’s all the same. Maybe it is. “How could I not?”

Harry’s breathing fast, and Niall wants him as badly as he’s ever wanted anything in his life. Sometimes he wants to fit Rose in the hollow place between his ribs where he knows she’ll be safe and loved, and he wants Harry there, too.

Niall swallows. “She said you were ‘coming around.’”

Harry rolls his eyes. It looks goofy and wrong on him, and it lacks the acerbic force it’d have on anybody else. Niall starts to smile. “To the idea that she just doesn’t want kids, you idiot.” Harry shakes Niall the tiniest bit by his shoulders, his hands warm and familiar. “I was taking a cue from you.”

They just look at each other for a moment, and it’s. Niall’s been looking at Harry’s face for such a huge part of his life now. It feels a bit like coming home. “Why didn’t you come after me?”

“My ticket’s for tomorrow,” Niall laughs. “I can’t always find a babysitter at the drop of a hat, you know.” He presses his lips against Harry’s lightly, familiarly.

“I’m home now,” Harry murmurs into the kiss. “I’m never leaving.”

“That’s kind of inconvenient,” Niall says, “because I’m going on tour in a few weeks, and I was hoping you’d come with me.” He leaves his eyes closed, because it still feels like asking for too much. More than he deserves.

Harry just kisses him again, harder this time. “Your turn now,” he says simply. Harry wraps both arms around Niall’s waist, holding on tight. “Now,” he says, “please tell me my baby is here somewhere.”

Laughing, Niall says, “She’s upstairs in her room. Go on up, I’ll be right after you.”

“Mm. No, that’s okay. I don’t mind going slow.”

***

Niall loops the guitar strap over his head. The wooden guitar is a familiar weight in his hands, and he’s glad for the comfort of it. He’s never been on a stage by himself before, and he finds himself instinctively looking for the others to anchor himself in place.

They’re there, just not on stage. Louis’s standing offstage with his arms across his chest and his lips pursed, but Niall can see the delight on his face. It’s just a club tour, just in the UK, but Niall’s record has gone over much better than anyone expected. He set out to make Darkness on the Edge of Town and ended up with Nebraska, but that’s okay. Turns out all he really needs is the guitar in his hands.

He knows Liam and Zayn will watch the best bits on YouTube and send him the links and want to discuss it, and Niall can’t wait to put them on a conference call together tonight, even if it inevitably ends with the two of them having an inside conversation.

Niall clears his throat. The crowd is attentive and they look so beautiful from up here. The sky is so blue. He spots Harry and Rose without trouble, Rose’s little hand waving frantically from her perch on Harry’s shoulders. “Thanks for having me,” he says. He smiles wide. “This one’s for you.”


End file.
